White Knuckles, Black Dragon
by Ru Rabbit
Summary: 'She who fights monsters should see to it that she herself does not become a monster'. For Tatsuki Arisawa, that's never held more true. Bleach EP13-20. Canon Divergent AU. TatsuHime.
1. Chapter 1

_It used to be so simple._

 _Back when I was a kid, I thought I knew how the world worked. I'd seen enough suffering to figure out that things rarely come up roses. When your best friends lose people that mean everything to them – a mother, a brother – you realize just how cruel life can be._

 _I learned what endurance really was back then. I saw it in their faces every day. It's not just what your body can take, how much of a beating you can live through before your tendons tear and your bones break. It's what's in your mind, your spirit, your heart. It's standing through everything the world throws at you, and not losing yourself, not losing what's inside, even when you want to break down and cry._

 _I don't think I'll ever be as strong as they were back then. But I made damn sure to try. I gave everything I had – in my classes, in the dojo, in our friendship – for them. I made sure that, when they really needed me, I would be strong enough to share the weight. To help carry the burden._

 _Things got better, eventually. Life went on. We left the past in its place, and held the memories close. School became the worst of our troubles – the local thugs for Ichigo, the classroom perverts for Orihime, and (by extension) a certain touchy-feely redhead for me. But we stuck together, we looked out for each other, we made it through the day. It was never easy, but it was nothing compared to what we had been through. And honestly, at that time, we were happy._

 _But things change quickly – and so do people._

 _Looking back, I can't imagine that it would have turned out this way. I guess I was naïve – about the world, about them, maybe even about myself. I thought that, no matter what happened, the way forward would always be obvious. I thought I would know what to do._

 _That changed three months ago._

 _When I died._

* * *

 **1\. Flood A Life**

Tatsuki Arisawa opened her eyes to a blue sky.

 _Paper cranes._ Her first thought made as much sense as her current situation – which was just about none at all. Where the hell was the ceiling? Why was she asleep outside? She wasn't the type to lie down and take a daylight nap in the grass, much less on the solid clay of the school courtyard. How did she end up here?

She didn't remember. In fact, she couldn't remember much at all.

She lifted her head, using her elbows to prop herself upright.

The memories hit like a flood.

A mob. Some weird green ooze out of a B horror flick. The feeling of her knuckles slamming into jaws. A hand on her shoulder. Chizuru. Something that pissed her off more than Chizuru. Some kind of heat mirage... No, not a mirage. _Something._ Bullets. Falling. Gray eyes.

Tears.

"Orihime!"

Tatsuki looked around the courtyard in a panic. The student body littered the place: their crumpled frames were strewn about the grounds, lying still. At a glance, she couldn't tell if they were unconscious or dead. That just made it worse.

No sight of orange. No sight of her. She had to be here. She _had_ to be! If she was missing, that meant–

A stirring caught the corner of Tatsuki's eye. Her head whipped towards the direction; her eyes searched for the source. Nothing. Quickly, she rolled to the side, claiming her feet, ignoring the sudden throbs of pain, tensing her muscles as she prepared for an incoming attack.

A second movement – but not from the air. It wasn't what she had thought: a movement from that thing, the monster that had attacked them. The stirrings were coming from a student lying a few dozen feet away: a girl, a redhead, a familiar face. Tatsuki threw the aches crawling through her body into the back of her mind, and ran over to Chizuru, dropping to her knees beside the girl, grabbing her shoulders and trying to shake her awake.

"Chizuru! Wake up, damn it!" she shouted, jostling her again. The eyelids behind the gleaming lenses fluttered slightly, but didn't open. "Where's Orihime? What happened to–"

"Hiiiimmmeeee!"

Tatsuki's body stiffened with a jolt. A vein in her temple ignited with an all-too-familiar pounding. Her eyes slid downwards – down to her skirt, down to her thighs, down to the arms wrapped around one and the cheek rubbing against the skin.

"That flash bomb was soooo _scary!_ " squealed Chizuru, squeezing her eyes shut tight with delight as she continued her cuddling assault. "I'm glad it's over, but you're just so soft that I might never let–"

Tatsuki's free knee flew into Chizuru's stomach, cutting off that thought. The arms around her thigh squiggled back to their owner, this time clutching the point of impact as Chizuru doubled up and rocked on the ground.

"Moron! Look before you try to molest someone!" yelled Tatsuki, glaring down at the angry pout being shot her way. Probably not her best piece of advice to Chizuru – but hey, it _was_ Chizuru. She needed all the 'help' she could get.

"Like I would if I knew it was you," said Chizuru, muttering through sullen lips. She sprung up to her knees, surprising Tatsuki with an accusing finger pointed towards her nose. "And maybe you should explain why you were trying to impersonate my Hime!"

Tatsuki gave her an annoyed glare. "Now why the hell would I... Ugh, never mind! Do you know where–"

"Orihime!" called Chizuru, cupping her hands around her mouth, conveniently ignoring the question as she scanned the courtyard. "You can come out now, my love! Tatsuki scared all the creepy weirdos away!"

A hand clamped down on Chizuru's shoulder. Startled, she glanced back towards its owner, and found Tatsuki giving her a cautionary stare.

"Use your head. That monster could still be around here," whispered Tatsuki. She glanced around the courtyard, searching for any disturbances in the air, looking past students that were beginning to pick themselves off the ground.

"... Monster?"

Tatsuki looked back to Chizuru. An odd stare of confusion was sprawled across the redhead's face.

"Are you... feeling okay?"

Tatsuki blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

The two stared at each other for an oblivious moment – and then Chizuru thrust her finger back towards her attacker's nose, declaring: "Oh, that's low! I get what you're trying to do!" She crossed her arms, peering over the rim of her glasses – at Tatsuki's bewildered expression – with disapproval. "Playing off Hime's superstition, so she clings onto you, just to keep her from me..." She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I never thought you'd resort to acting, Tatsuki. I'm disappointed."

"What are..."

Tatsuki trailed off as she looked over her surroundings. From the moment her eyes opened, from the beginning, something didn't seem right. She had passed that feeling off as dread, as the sinking sensation inside her gut that came along with a missing Orihime; but now, she realized that it was something separate, something entirely different. There was something... _manufactured_ about this whole thing. She remembered the attack clearly now. She recalled the details. She _knew_ that it was real.

But, looking around, it seemed like it hadn't happened at all.

Most of the evidence had been erased. The shattered windows of nearby buildings remained, but the ground was free from shards of glass: the gleams that should have covered the place were nonexistent. The green slime was gone, too: the stains on the uniforms of the students around her – the ones rising to their feet, the ones glancing around curiously, the ones that had _attacked_ her – had vanished. She looked back to Chizuru, to her left arm. No pulsing veins, no rigid muscles; no damage at all. Even as she looked down at herself, as the aches of her body knocked at the door of consciousness, she found no visible cause for any of it.

This didn't make any sense. Everyone – even she herself – seemed to be unharmed. But that couldn't be right. That monster had attacked her head-on. Shouldn't she be in _worse_ shape?

And what the hell was that image in her mind? Some kind of paper plane... or bird... against the sun?

"Hey, uh...?" came Chizuru's voice.

Tatsuki's head snapped up, startling the strange look off Chizuru's face. "You said something about a flash bomb, right? What did you mean?"

"Huh?" Chizuru blinked at her. "The one those punks threw."

"Punks?"

"The guys that came at us when we were cleaning up!" said Chizuru, holding her arm up and off to the side, pointing towards the courtyard entrance. She cocked her head at Tatsuki's blank expression. "How can you not remember? You're the one that chased them away!"

Tatsuki stared at her in disbelief. Deja vu. She knew this feeling. A sense that her memories were betraying her, that reality and dreams were churning together, that a veil had been thrown over her eyes. It was the same as that time at Orihime's apartment. Nothing about that night had made any sense. Her mind had told her that there had been an earthquake, that she had hit her head and passed out – but there was nothing about it on the news. Orihime's story made no sense, either (what kind of sumo wrestler has a giant gun?) – but maybe it was more than her overactive imagination. Maybe the image from that night _was_ real. Maybe she _had_ been there.

And now there was this. And now, she thought, it had happened again. But this time, she remembered – and this time, she was sure.

Something – _someone_ – had tried to wipe out her memories.

 _Rukia._

"But I could have sworn Hime was right here with us..." said Chizuru, looking around in confusion. Her gaze stopped on a boy, brown-haired and rather short, that had approached them. "Hey, have you seen the girl that was sweeping up around here?" She pressed her fingertips against her cheeks, giving herself dimples. "Orange hair, a real cutie-pie?"

The boy blinked, then shook his head.

 _Damn it. There's no time for this!_ Tatsuki snatched her cell phone out of her shirt's front pocket, flipping it open and preparing to speed-dial a number – but her thumb froze over the keypad. _She doesn't have one. I told her a million times that she needs it for emergencies!_

"Tat– Hey! Where are you going?" called Chizuru, as Tatsuki leapt to her feet and dashed towards the courtyard's entrance.

"To look for Orihime! Call me if you see her!" she shouted over her shoulder – and, a few steps later, she had rounded the corner, disappearing from sight.

Chizuru gave the barren entrance a blink, then turned back to the boy that was standing over her. She peered up at his face as he smiled and extended a hand.

Weird. He looked a bit familiar. Wasn't he... one of those three? The punks from before?

She tilted her head at him. _Hm..._

 _Nah. Don't be silly._

* * *

Somewhere isolated.

If Orihime was being chased, that's where she would go. It was backwards logic – if you needed help, running _towards_ people made the most sense – but Tatsuki knew her too well, knew how she thought. Orihime was always more concerned with the safety of the people around her than her own. That's why she had insisted on getting Tatsuki and Chizuru away from school grounds. That's why she had stayed behind to protect them from that thing. That's why she had led it away from the school. That's why she was still running.

That's what Tatsuki hoped, because the other possibility was...

 _Don't think about it._

She raced through the streets of Karakura Town, heading for the Community Park, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her. Her cell phone had been snapped shut and returned to her pocket; the thought of calling Rukia had crossed her mind, but she didn't have the girl's number. They weren't exactly chummy, but after this, maybe she would make an effort – to catch her alone, beat the hell out of her, and force her to spill her guts about whatever the fuck was going on around here.

The treeline of the park came into view. She could see the entrance to the path up ahead. There was no-one around: in a small town like Karakura, it was rare to bump into a crowd, especially on a weekday afternoon in a place as large as this. That was exactly the reason it had popped into mind. She just hoped her intuition was right.

And maybe it was. As she came upon the park's entrance, she noticed someone running down the path up ahead – the one that formed a 'T' with her own. It was a young girl: short brown hair, frantic, with what looked like some kind of chain hanging from her yellow dress.

Tatsuki didn't give the sight a second thought. She dashed up to the intersecting path, turning in the direction the girl had run from.

Her feet pounded over the paved pathway. Her eyes darted among the tree trunks. Her nails dug into her palms. Nothing. She came to an abrupt stop at a four-way junction in the path, glancing down both of the side avenues. Still no sight of her. Where the hell _was_ she?

 _Don't panic. Keep looking._

She broke back into a run, heading deeper into the park – but, after only a few steps, something forced her to freeze.

It was like the sharp gust of a hurricane – the kind of wind that screams past, that makes it impossible to even catch a breath – and yet, it wasn't a wind at all. It was some kind of force, some kind of tremor, some invisible weight that seemed dead set on crushing her beneath its feet. It was emanating from all around her, from the entire park...

No. Not from all around. From one direction. From... above?

Tatsuki raised her head, looking past the ruffling leaves of trees, towards the sky – and her eyes went wide.

In her frenzy to find Orihime, she had been blind to everything else. It was sitting there, so glaring and obvious, but it hadn't caught her attention. She had never looked up. But now – _now,_ it was hard to miss.

In the middle of the blue sky was a gaping black tear – like an eye of creeping shadows, its apparitions dancing and fading, blending together and shifting apart.

And suddenly, there was something else.

A mass of white rose from the bottom edge of the tear, peering out of the gate as if it were a peephole. A face – a mask – that looked like something out of a deranged soul's nightmare. Its eyes were beady pupils of yellow; its nose stuck out like a dunce cap; its teeth were gnashed into an expressionless line. It bulged through the opening, pulling the shadows with it, sticking its gigantic head out into the blue.

"What the..." murmured Tatsuki, staring up at the freakish thing in shock.

Her heart pounded along at the speed of a spinning cog. The monster's jaws ground open like the gate to some hellish abyss. And then the wind pulsed, and the roar came, and Tatsuki's voice was lost among the echoes.

" _What the hell is that?_ "


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: A few scenes in this story are shared with the anime. This chapter is probably the most redundant; it might seem like a carbon copy at this point, but trust me when I say that won't last for long. :) And to answer the previous review, this story will end just before the start of the Soul Society Arc – though, if there's a lot of interest, I might decide to extend it._

* * *

 **2\. Pinocchio**

Tatsuki stood motionless, staring up at the skyward monstrosity with wide eyes.

A loud crack – like the splitting of a bulletproof window – jolted her from her stupor. Jagged black lines sprouted from the edges of the rift in the sky, shooting down to the ground and all around. They pulsed like veins, trembling violently – and then, four white spikes burst through one, emerging just below the mask. They closed around the edge of limbo, grasping the blue expanse like a sheet of fabric, tearing the gap open wide. The mass of shadow began to move into reality, stepping forward with a giant, pointed boot. The white sole landed with a boom.

All of that was more than enough to get Tatsuki to move. By the time the footfall shook the ground, she had dashed into the nearby trees, turning behind one of the trunks and pressing her back to the wood. She peered out past the edge of her hiding place, scaling the towering beast with her eyes, stopping upon the metal spikes that formed a dog collar above the hole in its body.

 _That_ wasn't the monster from before. Not even close! The freaking thing was huge! Taller than the office build–

A flurry of automatic gunfire echoed through the air. Almost instinctively, Tatsuki's head whipped towards the sound. Through the distant tree trunks were... That looked like a group of people. Two men in weird-looking outfits, a boy holding some kind of club, and a little girl in a long pink skirt.

Firing a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher.

Tatsuki gawked at the far-off scene, her left eye twitching. _That... can't be real. Am I going crazy?_

A cloud shifted over the sun, contributing to the shade of the trees. The change of light caught her attention, and her gaze flew back up to the masked behemoth.

Her pounding heart skipped a beat.

Not a cloud. Not an illusion. Its feet were only a few steps away. Its head blotted out the sun.

And it was staring down at her.

The word that sprang into her mind was almost foreign.

 _Run._

But she couldn't. Her body was rooted in place: her knees refused to move. Whether it was pride, fear, or a mix, she didn't know; it never entered her thoughts. There was only her mind screaming at her – screaming that word over and over – and her frozen knees, and her trembling irises, and that hellish face looking down at her, into her, with its beady yellow eyes.

' _Well hello._ '

A voice – cold, sharp, malicious. A voice she didn't recognize; a voice inside her head. That thing's voice. It was _talking_ to her.

Her knees ground against her frozen legs, forcing a shaky step backward. _Move, goddamn it! MOVE!_

The monstrosity looked as if it was about to turn, bend down, and snatch her up in its jaws – but, at the last moment, something else caught its attention. As it looked back to the park pathway, a black-cloaked figure dashed across the bottom edge of Tatsuki's view, drawing her eyes back to the ground. The figure leapt towards the creature's cloaked shin, flying with a massive sword held over his shoulder. The blade reminded her of a giant metal fang; still, it barely made a dent in the creature's ankle as the stranger slashed into pearly flesh.

Wait. Not a stranger. She recognized that orange hair; she recognized _him._ But it couldn't be...

"Ichigo?" murmured Tatsuki, staring in disbelief. Her mouth dropped ajar as the behemoth took a step forward, flinging its attacker off its ankle and down the pathway, out of view through the trees. As the white boots took another tremor-inducing step, Tatsuki finally grabbed control of her body, and dashed through the trees parallel to the thing, struggling to get a view of what had to be Ichigo.

"That was the dumbest charge I've ever seen. What were you thinking, did you _actually_ think that would work?" came a distant voice, sounding more than a bit irritated. Through the passing trees, Tatsuki caught sight of a kneeling Ichigo – and another figure standing just behind him. She slid to a stop, squinting to get a better view of him. Black hair, center parted; glasses; a blue tie against a Karakura uniform... That was the guy Orihime had mentioned. _Uchuu._ No, that wasn't it. _Ukyou?_

He placed his hand on the dull edge of Ichigo's sword, opposite the forte (what the hell was Ichigo doing with a _giant sword?_ ), and suddenly, an arc of neon blue light – longer than his own height – materialized from his wrist.

Oh, that's right. It's _that guy with the laser wristwatch!_

"What did you do, Uryu?" came Ichigo's startled voice. "How'd your bow get that big?"

"Never mind that! Just listen! I think there's a way we..."

What the hell were they doing? Discussing a strategy? They were just standing there! Tatsuki wanted to scream at them, to tell them they were morons and to look at what was coming – but the rumble of the behemoth's footfall cut her off. Uryu and Ichigo spun toward the thing, squinting up at the mask at the top of the pillar of shadow. Just next to its teeth, an ominous crimson light sparked into existence, quickly growing into an orb of spinning, crackling energy.

"You've got to run, both of you! If you're hit by that, there won't be an atom left!" came a distant shout – female, from the direction of the group of weirdos. Familiar.

 _Rukia?_

Tatsuki glanced towards the sound, but could see nothing through the trees. Her attention didn't stay there for long: Ichigo, growling like a maniac, was running straight towards the feet of the Pinocchio freak.

"What are you doing?" shouted Uryu. "We need to–"

The mask's jaws snapped open, and the blast cut him off. A torrent of crimson energy shot down towards the ground, crashing down upon Ichigo and bathing the entire area in the hue of blood. Roaring gales erupted from the point of impact, bending the nearby trees, nearly knocking Tatsuki off her feet.

" _Ichigo!_ " she screamed, grabbing onto a nearby trunk with one hand, struggling to keep her eyes open against the stinging wind. The place where Ichigo had been was surrounded by streaming tendrils of red light, but an arc of metal – Wait, that was him! He was still alive under his sword, under that thing!

' _A Cero, huh? I wonder how long he'll live._ '

Tatsuki's eyes widened. That voice again, echoing along with her fears, her panic. He couldn't keep that up. It was only a matter of time. She couldn't save him. He was going to die right in front of her, and there was nothing–

The shimmering light seemed to shudder – and then suddenly, red was blue, and down was up, and the blast of energy was sailing skyward, traveling up the shadowy tower like a glowing length of barbed wire, ripping into the creature's body. It took a stumbling step backwards, and a purple mist whiffed into the air from between its jaws. Its feet shuffled backwards along the pathway, taking step after step, heels scraping against the stone – until finally, it reached the black gate from whence it came. Its spiked fingers dug into the portal's edge, pulling the sky over its form like a winter blanket. In only a few moments, both it and the gate completely vanished from sight.

And all the while, Ichigo stood there with his sword on his shoulder, staring up at the retreating giant with a cocky grin.

Tatsuki could only stare on in amazement from the trees. Amazed, on one hand, by whatever the hell Ichigo had just done to beat that thing – and, on the other, that he was a suicidal _dumbass_ that had run at a towering monster like David with a slingshot. Not to mention the weird outfit that made him look like some kind of Gothic samurai. She was starting to get a migraine from all this supernatural crap.

And she still had no idea where Orihime was, or even if she was safe! Time to step out there, grab Ichigo by the collar, and threaten to rearrange his face if he...

Wait a minute.

She felt a strange sensation – like someone was watching her, someone far away. The person felt... familiar. It felt like Orihime. But how the hell could she know that?

Careful not to let anyone catch sight of her, Tatsuki peered out from the trees, following the sensation with her eyes. She didn't see Orihime anywhere. Not in the park... No, further. A little bit up. It was telling her that Orihime was in a tree? This was stupid! She had to be losing it– Wait! There was a... Up there!

A good distance away, on an elevated bridge above a road and overlooking the park, she could barely make out a girl that had to be Orihime. Orange hair, looked like a school uniform... That _was_ her. And she was standing with someone, facing him – a tall, hulking guy in a brightly-colored shirt. She thought she recognized him too, but she couldn't make him out that well. _Note to self: bring binoculars the next time the freaking aliens attack._

Just at that moment, the neon archer – Uryu, that was it – ran into her view, prompting her to duck behind the tree trunk. She stayed there for a few moments, pressing her back against the tree, unsure of whether she had been seen. Then, cautiously, she peeked out around the trunk – and found Uryu standing on top of a fallen Ichigo, shooting blue arrows into the sky, caught in the middle of some soliloquy that she couldn't quite make out. Thankfully, she hadn't been noticed – because her face was locked into the strangest, most dumbfounded expression anyone had ever seen.

And then Rukia walked into her view, looking down at Ichigo with concern.

Tatsuki's eyes narrowed.

That settled it. Whatever the hell was going on, Rukia had a hand in it – and, by the looks of things, so did Ichigo.

But Tatsuki wasn't about to stick around here and confront them. There'd be time for that later, when they were alone – when _Ichigo_ was alone. As a shouting match erupted between the three, Tatsuki delved deeper into the trees, careful not to let anyone catch sight of her as she slipped away.

That Pinocchio freak had almost vaporized Ichigo.

Too bad for him. Getting pummeled to death would definitely be more painful.

* * *

Okay, so let's review.

 _Okay, I know this sounds crazy... But, earlier today... I think some kind of monster attacked us. Yeah, a monster. Chizuru was holding your arm up and... Oh, that's because she was infected. See, there was this green ooze stuff that the thing shot out with pellets, and it was some kind of mind control... No, this wasn't on Sy-Fy. Listen. We were surrounded – Oh. It wasn't just Chizuru, there were a bunch of them. And I was knocking them out, but Chizuru grabbed me – No not that way! Actually... Damn it, just let me finish. Chizuru was holding my shoulder, and I got shot, and... I think I blacked out after that. But when I woke up, everyone was knocked out, and Chizuru didn't remember any of it. She said something about some guys and a flash bomb. So I went looking for you because I was worried, and I thought you went to the park, and there was this giant black thing with a Pinocchio mask, and a little girl was shooting a rocket launcher, and then I saw Ichigo dressed like a samurai, and..._

Tatsuki hung her head. This was hopeless. Even _Orihime_ would think she'd lost it.

She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, staring at the phone that sat upon the nightstand against the wall. Once she'd gotten home, she'd changed into more casual clothes: khakis and a white sleeveless shirt under an unbuttoned, powder blue blouse. Her school uniform lay sprawled out, wrinkled, on the bed next to her, untouched from where she had thrown it a half hour before.

She knew that Orihime was all right; in fact, she even knew exactly where Orihime was. On her way home, the psychic power (whatever the hell it was – that made the most sense) hadn't let up for a single moment; if anything, it had gotten stronger. Now she could tell the direction and the distance from miles away: she could actually _feel_ Orihime make her way back to her apartment. It was a relief, and, at the same time, a little unnerving. Even though she knew Orihime wasn't _actually_ watching her, it was a little weird having that feeling all the time – like while she was undressing, for instance.

Despite all that, though, she still wanted to call her: to assure herself that Orihime really was okay, and to make sure that _she_ hadn't gone crazy.

Tatsuki tapped the side of her foot against the wrinkled sheets, staring at the gray buttons of the white wireless receiver. Where to begin – that was the problem. She had no idea how much of this Orihime knew, or if she still knew anything at all. In all likelihood (and Tatsuki was speculating here), her memories had probably been wiped out as well – after she had led that invisible monster away from the school, once Ichigo or one of his 'pals' had killed the thing and saved her. But her being on that bridge couldn't have just been a coincidence...

Tatsuki took in a deep breath, exhaled, and reached over to the phone. She knew the number by heart. _Just take it slow. Ask her what she remembers, and then we can go down the rabbit hole._

A soft ringing: once, twice, and then the click of pickup.

"Tatsuki!" came Orihime's chirp.

 _Caller ID: the next best thing to being psychic._ "Hey, Orihime."

"Hi. What's up?"

"Uh..." _Great time to go blank._ "Listen, I–"

"Oh, yeah! You have to hear this!" said Orihime, causing Tatsuki to blink behind the receiver. "Something _incredible_ happened while I was waiting for you!"

"Incredible?"

"Yeah! See, I was standing by where we come in for school – and there's a gate there, right? Well, I was leaning against the wall like this... and Chizuru was over here... and the street was that way, so only I could see it..."

Tatsuki realized that Orihime was walking around the room: pausing, pointing, and acting out the environment.

From behind the receiver.

"And all of a sudden," said Orihime, "there was this big black van with tinted windows, and it drove past the school going _so_ slow. It looked really suspicious." Orihime paused – and then chirped: "So I followed it!"

"What?" shouted Tatsuki, glancing over to her ear – to the phone – in disbelief. "Why the hell would you do that? What if it was some weirdo that kidnaps people?"

Orihime laughed. "Oh, no, it couldn't have been that. It had a satellite dish on top."

"So... Wait, why does _that_ make a difference?"

A confused pause. "Because the government sends down tracking waves to watch where everyone's going. They'd catch him."

Tatsuki slapped her forehead with her free hand. "Keep going."

"Okay, so after I chased it for a few blocks, it stopped outside a house. I think it was the one of that girl that just moved away – you know, the one in our class?"

"Yumi?"

"Yeah! And a bunch of guys in black suits and sunglasses got out. They were walking around with cameras, and snapping photos of stuff." Orihime's voice dropped to a whisper. "I think it was a probe from the Alien Abduction Investigation Committee."

Tatsuki was very familiar with the AAIC. Orihime was their president.

"And right after that, the phone in the booth I was hiding behind rang! So I walked in and picked it up, and this guy with a really deep voice answered. He said, 'Forget everything you saw. You should go home.'" Her voice was stern, but nowhere deep enough to imitate a male. "So, after he hung up... I thought about it, and decided that that was probably best." She sighed. "I wish I was qualified for that kind of stuff..."

Tatsuki had to ask. "Well, what happened to the van?"

"Huh?" said Orihime. Then, cheerfully: "It left."

Of course.

"So I'm sorry that I kinda... ditched you there." Orihime laughed nervously. "You can forgive me, right?"

Tatsuki blinked. "Oh! Yeah, of course."

After all that, Tatsuki had almost forgotten her reason for calling – but now, it was back in the forefront of her mind. Orihime's story was odd, far-fetched and eccentric – and completely normal for her. Tatsuki hated to admit it, but it seemed like her memories had been replaced as well.

"I'm glad," said Orihime, sounding sentimental. "I was a little worried."

And then there was _that,_ which didn't sound normal at all.

"Orihime..." said Tatsuki, quiet with concern. "Did anything else happen today?"

"Happen?"

"At school, I mean."

"... Like what?"

 _Weird. She hesitated._ "Well... I'm not really sure," said Tatsuki, choosing her words carefully. She leaned back against pistachio-green: the color of her bedroom wall. "I think something weird went on after you left."

"Huh? Weird how?"

"Like... You know those guys that broke out the windows near the gym, right? I think they showed up again."

"You don't remember?"

 _What the hell?_ "How'd you know that?" asked Tatsuki, leaning forward.

"Oh, uh! Just a guess," came Orihime's rushed response, followed by another nervous chuckle. "'Cause you always forget stuff. Like lunch. Remember how many times we had to share?"

Oh God, Tatsuki wished she could erase _those_ memories. Orihime's lunches came along with a lifetime aftertaste. "I don't think I'll ever forget that," she said, shoving some geniality into her voice.

"See, of course not." She gave a short, intentional cough, as if preparing to quote. "'I'm an expert on unique, exotic dishes. My culinary skills are unmatched!'" And then a giggle.

"Michuru said that, huh?"

"How'd you know?" asked Orihime, blinking curiously, probably.

"Oh, just a guess." Michuru had a habit on putting a good spin on things that dropped like a rock – into your stomach.

"... Secret international food spy..." came Orihime's whisper. Then suddenly: "My recipes! I can't afford a safe!" A pause. "Oh. What were we talking about?"

 _Spacing out again, huh?_ "Oh, yeah. I just wanted to make sure you didn't run into those guys, or anything. I think they ran off the same way you walk home."

"Nope, didn't run into anybody," said Orihime – cheerful, and _awfully_ quick.

Tatsuki stared into space for a moment, furrowing her brow. "All right. Listen, I've gotta help get dinner ready, so I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

"Mm hmm. Seeya, Tatsuki!"

The click of a returned receiver, and the droning buzz of an unconnected line. Tatsuki listened to it for a few seconds before setting the receiver down on its stand.

More than once, that conversation had turned awkward – and yet, she had barely mentioned anything about all the insanity that had gone on today. If anything, she had played along as if she were completely oblivious.

And, despite all of that, Orihime had stumbled over herself at just about every opportunity.

But Orihime was her best friend. She couldn't know. She wouldn't keep something like this from her.

Would she?

Tatsuki placed a hand over her closed fist, setting them in her lap. She stared at them hard, thinking, running over the words. By the time her mother actually called her to help with dinner, several minutes had passed.

She took a glimpse into the mirror on her desk. Then, she stood, opened the door, and headed downstairs.

* * *

The next morning, Tatsuki awoke to the beeping of her alarm clock – and a pounding headache.

Not surprising, considering all the crap she'd been through recently. Holding a palm against her forehead, she dragged herself out of bed, muttering as she opened the bedroom door and shuffled down the hall towards the bathroom. She stepped inside, locked the bathroom door behind her, rubbed her eyes sleepily, and began undressing to take a shower. Nightshirt, shorts, panties, socks–

Her heart froze, and her body went along with it, petrified upon a single foot. Her eyes darted around the room in panic – but, after a moment, she caught her breath.

 _Damn_ was that 'being watched' feeling weird! It almost seemed like Orihime was right there in the room with her, even though she knew that she was blocks away.

Tatsuki covered herself subconsciously, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she stepped into the shower. Her hand reached for the curtain, pulling it into place, and then for the shower knob. A spray of warm water shot from the overhead faucet, soaking her spiky, messy black hair. She closed her eyes, tilting her chin upwards, letting the falling drops patter against her forehead. Gradually, she let her body relax, giving into the soothing heat.

 _This time, I'll protect you!_

Tatsuki's eyes shot open – and immediately, she was blinded by water, forcing them to slam shut. She spun away from the faucet, stepping back, covering her face with a grasping hand. Standing hunched over in the small alcove, she opened her eyes slowly, staring into the mosaic floor past her fingers.

 _I remember._

But she didn't want to remember. She didn't want to hear those words. She didn't want to see those tears again. She didn't want to be the cause. She didn't want to be the one that–

The feeling of her foot crashing into Orihime's stomach.

The side of her fist slammed against the shower tiles – hard enough to shake the wall. She gritted her teeth, trembling, shaking, tensed under the water droplets that poured down her back.

" _Damn it!_ "

Two more strikes would echo through the house before her mother knocked at the door. Tatsuki said she was all right; she managed to get out the words. Ten minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom in a towel, heading towards her bedroom with fresh droplets trailing down her cheeks.

But they weren't tears.

She told herself that.

* * *

She caught up with Ichigo first thing that morning.

He was striding down the hall with his usual apathetic gait, heading towards class, acting as if nothing remotely interesting had happened in the last year, much less just yesterday. In fact, no-one at the school seemed to be aware of the danger they had been in hours ago: there were no mentions of weird sightings, no gossip about monster attacks, no strange rumors at all – not that she heard, anyway. Whether it was that their memories had been altered, or that they simply couldn't see any of the stuff, she didn't know. She remembered Orihime saying that she _could_ see the first monster, the invisible one, so maybe most people couldn't see them at all. That was what Tatsuki had come up with, anyway.

Maybe she could get Ichigo to _clarify._

"Ichigo!" she called.

Ichigo stopped momentarily, peering over his shoulder, giving Tatsuki a bit of an odd look as she ran up to his side. "Huh? What's up?"

What was that about? He was acting like they barely knew each other. She didn't think they had drifted apart _that_ much in the last year.

Then again, she hadn't thought that his hobbies included fighting freaky creatures from outer space, so the track record wasn't exactly stellar.

"What, I can't say hi?" she asked, giving him a lopsided grin – and a not-so-light punch in the shoulder. As they began to stroll down the hall, she tilted her chin upwards with a smirk, adding: "Or _maybe_ you're afraid of being seen with the only girl in school that can kick your ass."

"Like that's gonna happen," said Ichigo, looking her way with what, for Ichigo, qualified as a smile. "You forgetting that I beat you in our last match?"

" _Four years_ ago. Like that counts for anything." Tatsuki peered up at him from the corner of her eye, smiling. "And I didn't forget. You owe me another round."

"Is that what this is about?" He sounded _annoyed._ God damn, if there weren't people around, she'd put his whole body in a sling.

"Not really. I wanted to ask you about something."

"Shoot."

"I heard there was a nasty fight in town yesterday. You know anything about it?"

"A fight?" asked Ichigo, a mix between skeptical and curious.

"Yeah. Somewhere in the park." She turned her head, looking straight at Ichigo's face. "I was wondering if you know anybody involved."

There was a slight hitch in Ichigo's stride, but it quickly disappeared with the next step. His eyes slid over to Tatsuki, and then looked forward to the hall. "Can't say I do. This is the first I'm hearing of it."

 _You're a terrible liar, Ichigo. It'd be better if you didn't do it to your friends._

"Oh, I see..." said Tatsuki, trying not to let her disappointment sink into her voice. "Well, I just thought I'd ask, since you're kinda a directory for that sort of stuff, you know?" _Like the Orange Pages._

"Can't say I asked for that, either," said Ichigo, shoving his hands into his pockets, slouching a bit. He stopped outside a classroom door that she was sure wasn't his homeroom. "This is me. I'll talk to ya later, all right?"

 _So you're trying to ditch me, huh? All right._

"Sure," said Tatsuki, feigning a turn away – and then stopping short. "Oh, hey, one more thing."

As he took a step into the classroom, Ichigo looked back at her, an 'Eh?' expression upon his face – and just after he did, Tatsuki's knuckles slammed into his cheek, sending him rolling into the classroom. He landed against the side of the unmanned lectern, looking up at her with a dumbfounded expression. Her fist was still in the air, as if to cool off from the fiery glare blazing in her eyes.

"What the hell? What was that for?" he shouted, in the standard Ichigo-flip-out manner.

"Payback for the kiss on the cheek!" she yelled back, and stamped back down the hall, towards her homeroom, before he could utter a word. More than a few curious eyes followed her with bewildered looks, but she didn't give a damn. Everyone already knew about that stunt, anyway. Gossip traveled like greased lightning at Karakura High.

But, when she was finally in her homeroom, sitting at her desk, noticing the quick looks and giggles from a group of female classmates that were _obviously_ talking about her, a thought entered Tatsuki's mind.

 _Was I supposed to remember that?_

She didn't know. Which memories were real, and which were just supposed to be real? Which ones did the people around her have? The ones that were real to them were fake to her, and the ones that were real to her didn't exist for them, and the ones that were real to them had to be real _but not real_ for her to seem sane, and this whole fucking thing was giving her a giant headache.

She set her elbows on her desk, holding her forehead with her right palm, staring up at the blackboard as the teacher entered and class began.

 _Everybody's Pinocchio._


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. Memories of Nobody**

Basacer.

No, it wasn't one of Orihime's signature dishes, even though it did sound sort of threatening. Still, anyone who heard the name would be right to guess that she invented it.

 _Basacer_ was actually a sport: a combination of baseball and soccer, with a pitcher, a batter, three bases, two halves, and rules that would make any normal person's head spin. Tatsuki still wasn't quite sure she understood them, but honestly, she really didn't care: it was fun as hell, and a good excuse to send a flying object at the head of whoever had pissed her off recently. And since she couldn't actually basacer Ichigo's head in, it was a good opportunity to vent some of the anger still steaming inside her soul.

As soon as the bell for next period rang, Tatsuki looked over her shoulder, grinning at the gleam in Orihime's eyes. Gym class at Karakura High had one huge benefit: the physical ed teacher, Kagine, basically let you do whatever the hell you wanted, as long as you didn't cause any property damage. Rumor had it that he had a habit of breaking down school doors, and that they came out of his salary, so Tatsuki assumed he knew a bit about things like that. Thankfully, their made-up sport didn't involve explosions.

Yet.

Tatsuki leaned down to grab her school bag, stood from her seat, and headed over to Orihime's side. _Just need a target for today._

"Oh Hiiimmee...!"

 _We have a volunteer!_

Chizuru was on top of a freaking desk – two pushed together actually, hands on one and knees on the other – gazing at Orihime with the look of a wildcat ready to pounce. Orihime, already standing, was just standing there with a clueless look.

"You're just so cute, I could eat you up!" Chizuru's lips curved upward, smiling deviously. "But first..." She pivoted back onto her soles, raising her hands, strumming the air with her fingers. "Let's get rid of those clo–"

Tatsuki kicked the back desk out from under Chizuru, sending her toppling onto the floor. "We'd all be running around naked if it was up to you!"

Chizuru's head popped back up, her lenses gleaming in the window's light. "Actually, fur bikinis would be a lot bet–"

And the stomping began. Once Chizuru could be commonly confused with a pancake, Orihime finally spoke up.

"Oh, Tatsuki! Did you hear about the festival coming up next week?"

Tatsuki turned to her. "Huh? A festival?"

"Uh huh. There's going to be a fireworks festival to honor the god that looks over Karasu River," said Orihime, holding a forefinger up to denote her point. She leaned in, moving her palm next to her mouth for a whisper, adding: "I heard he's a giant crow, and he picks up people that throw trash in the river with his talons, and he makes them take a swim! Can you believe that?"

Tatsuki raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's just not Ichigo kicking thugs off bridges again?"

A giggle. "No, silly. He's real!" She clapped her palms together in an oh-so-cute manner. "There's going to be all sorts of games and foods, and even a spiritual ceremony!"

 _And explosions,_ thought Tatsuki. _Don't forget the explosions._

"So you just have to come! You can make it, right?" Orihime was practically _pleading_ now, with interlaced fingers held up.

Tatsuki scratched the back of her neck, ruffling her hair as she glanced at the ceiling. "Well, I have Nationals coming up next week, so..." She looked back to Orihime – who she could have sworn had transformed into one of those puppies on adopt-an-animal commercials. "Uh, what day's it on?"

"The first of August?" asked Orihime with hope, as if she could change the date if it was inconvenient.

 _The day after we're supposed to come home._ Tatsuki smiled. "I can make that."

Orihime's face lit up like the sun, and she held a fist up high in victory. "Yes! Tatsuki has joined us in our search for The God of A Thousand Black Feathers!"

Tatsuki gave her a blank blink that went unnoticed. She was never quite sure who Orihime was talking to in moments like these. Maybe there were invisible people that only _she_ could see.

"Orihime! Tatsuki!" came a voice from the door. Glancing in that direction, they noticed Mahana – another of their classmates – sticking her head through the opening, peering at them. "Better hurry up, you're gonna be late if you stick around here!" Her hand vanished like a critter in Whack-A-Mole.

"Oh, yeah! Coming!" called Orihime. She turned back to Tatsuki, that familiar gleam in her eyes. "Ready?"

Tatsuki nodded with a grin, and they both hurried out into the hall. Side by side, they headed towards the school's main staircase, as it was the one closest to Class 1-3.

"So where are they holding the Nationals this year?" asked Orihime, looking at Tatsuki curiously.

"Oh, Tokyo. That's where it usually goes on." Tatsuki smacked her fist against her open palm, smiling confidently at the hallway ahead – and scaring a passing boy half-to-death. "Things are going to go a little different this time, though, since I have a spot on the team."

"Absolutely! Our Tatsuki's gonna knock 'em down for the count!" Orihime did a cute little Rock 'Em Sock 'Em routine, jabbing her fists in the air playfully.

Tatsuki laughed – but her smile faded a bit as she looked down the hall.

On the corridor's opposite side, headed towards her, was Ichigo – along with someone else. He was a giant among adolescents, huge and hulking, standing at least six and a half feet tall. Tan skin, wavy brown hair, eyes that were imposing yet kind. She knew who he was. Sado Yasutora – one of Ichigo's closer friends.

 _That's the guy who was with Orihime on the bridge!_

Playing it casual, Tatsuki gave Ichigo an upward nod of her chin. He looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets, seeming to sulk as they passed. _Probably still pissed about this morning._ Tatsuki glanced back at them, and then over to Orihime – who had suddenly become very quiet.

"What's wrong?" asked Tatsuki, staring at Orihime's pensive look. Orihime blinked out of it, and quickly held her palms up defensively.

"O-oh, nothing!" she said, giving a light, nervous laugh. "I was just thinking how boring it's going to be around here, with you gone for a whole week."

A faint smile found Tatsuki's face.

Somehow, she doubted that this town would ever get boring.

Not to mention Orihime's excuse.

* * *

"YES! Physical education – the most important class of the day! Sunshine, the great outdoors, the thrill of student _competition!_ And not to mention the lovely ladies running around in uniform..."

"You do know they can hear you, right?"

Mizuiro Kojima stole the words right out of Tatsuki's mind. She was standing in the middle of the makeshift pitcher's zone, sporting the standard navy-and-white Karakura gym uniform, staring at the hyperactive screwball known as Keigo Asano with a look so odd it defied explanation. Though, it was appropriate, as Keigo himself tended to defy explanation at least three times during the day. She was never quite sure what he would start spazzing out about next, but chances were high it would include his lack of luck (and ability) in the department of 'romance'.

On cue, he started up the next rant – rather than grabbing the soccer balls from the equipment shed, like Tatsuki had asked him to do _five minutes_ _ago._

"What? What's wrong with healthy young men like us making such a normal observation! It's because you're repressed, Mizuiro! _Repressed desires!_ " He was pointing at the other boy accusingly, dramatically, as if Mizuiro was supposed to throw his arms up in despair and confess his sins to the gods. But, since Mizuiro simply smiled his ambiguous smile, Keigo continued: "You can't tell me you never peek with all these hotties around! Just look at Orihime, with those amazing..."

Oh, now she wanted to screwball his _face._

"What the hell are you talking about over there?" shouted Tatsuki, sending a glare of hellfire into his terrified little eyes. "Get our stuff, or I'll find some _other_ balls to kick!"

That did it. Keigo dashed toward the equipment shed like a mouse fleeing from a griffin, tears streaming down his melodramatic face.

After a few taps of the foot, Tatsuki looked up at the overhead sun, shielding her eyes with her hand. It was hot as hell out here: the noontime rays were baking the solid clay that made up the school grounds, turning the entire area into an oven. She wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead using the back of her wrist, and looked back towards the equipment shed – but out of the blue, there was a sudden shade, and gentle fingers were upon each side of her head. Startled, she looked over her shoulder, finding Orihime smiling at her from underneath the rim of a navy baseball visor. Tatsuki blinked, then glanced up at the one that had been placed upon her own head.

"Where'd you get these?"

"From our official sponsors!" said Orihime, sounding victorious. She leaned in a tiny bit, as if relaying a secret. "We just got approval to form our own league."

Tatsuki grinned. "The baseball team, then?"

Orihime giggled, then turned, looking over her shoulder with a smile. "I get first bat, okay?"

Tatsuki nodded, watching as she ran off towards home plate. Orihime was acting so normal, so sweet: so much like herself. Looking at her, it seemed like nothing at all had happened yesterday, or certainly nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it was just paranoia: maybe Orihime's memories had been wiped clean, and she remembered nothing about the attack or any other parts of the mind-boggling weirdness. In all honesty, Tatsuki just wanted to forget about all of that stuff for a while – and, in this moment, she could. She simply watched the tips of Orihime's orange locks, the little swish they made when she ran, going back and forth across the small of her back, sort of like a swinging pendulum...

"Hey, Tatsuki!"

Blinking out of her daze, Tatsuki turned her head – and was immediately struck in the face by a flying soccer ball. She stumbled backwards, loosing her feet and falling to the ground, landing on her rear. Removing her hand from her face, she glared menacingly at Keigo – who looked as if he had just thrown a pebble at a lion.

"Moron! Wait until I'm looking at you before you throw the damn thing!" she shouted, causing his head to dart around suddenly – as if looking for an escape route.

"Oh! Tatsuki!"

Tatsuki glanced towards the concerned cry to find Orihime running towards her. She stopped just in front of the fallen girl, placing her hands upon her knees, peering down at her face. "You okay?"

"Fine, aside from the 'FIFA' across my nose," grumbled Tatsuki, giving its bridge a quick sweep with her knuckles. Keigo may have been a coward, but he had a pretty good arm on him: he could have made one hell of a NPB pitcher. Looking up, she found Orihime holding a hand out to her and smiling.

"Here."

Tatsuki blinked, and then reached out to grab it.

A flash of memories. That hand. Orihime's arms around her. Those eyes – those eyes filled with sadness, regret, guilt, tears–

Tatsuki batted the hand away, gritting her teeth. "I don't need your help! Okay?"

Startled, Orihime stepped back, staring down at her with lips ajar. The anger on Tatsuki's face vanished in an instant, and she opened her mouth to apologize; but before she could get out the words, Orihime withdrew her hand, turning and jogging back towards home plate. The school grounds suddenly seemed much quieter: the chatting that had been going on had come to a halt, and Tatsuki could swear she felt a good number of eyes aimed her way, although she wasn't about to actually look. She found her feet in a hurry, looking to the side, towards first base, where Michuru was holding the soccer ball with a look that said: 'Whoa'.

"Here," said Tatsuki, holding up a palm.

"Oh, yeah." Michuru tossed the ball over to her, and glanced towards Orihime – who was scraping her shoes against home plate – before staring back at Tatsuki in contemplation.

"All right, first pitch." Tatsuki spun the ball in her hands, and then looked over to home plate. She couldn't stop herself from swallowing. "You ready, Orihime?"

Orihime tapped the steel bat against her shoulder, giving a quiet 'Mm hmm' in response. The edge of her visor hid her eyes from sight.

"Okay," said Tatsuki, trying (and failing) to hide the nervousness in her voice. She dropped the soccer ball onto the cradle of her shoe and ankle, gave a slight kick to start it rolling, then chased after it and swung her leg back. "Here it comes!"

The kick was swift, powerful, low and down the middle, a perfect str–

 _Crack!_

The noise shot through the school grounds – and the soccer ball shot past Tatsuki's left shoulder, screaming into the air, into the outfield, into the imaginary stands at a speed too fast for her eyes to follow.

Her eyes didn't even attempt that, though. They were wide, still staring straight ahead – still staring at Orihime, at her navy baseball visor, at the eyes that had just vanished behind it.

It was only a glimpse, only a second: but, in all her life, Tatsuki had never seen those eyes look so serious.

A moment passed. Then, Orihime looked up at Tatsuki, smiling cheerfully, looking so normal, so sweet, so much like herself. She pointed the tip of the bat towards the distant skies.

"Home run."

* * *

By the time lunch rolled around, things were starting to get back to being relatively normal.

With two exceptions.

"Tada!" said Orihime, holding up her latest concoction like an Iron Chef (or Stomach) trophy. "Today's lunch is a castella sandwich. Sweet bean jelly between slices of castella. An irresistible creation for lovers of sweets!"

One: the 'food' that made up Orihime's lunch, which was never normal to begin with.

"Oh my, that looks delicious!"

And two: Mahana had the bright idea of inviting Little Miss Brainwasher, Rukia Kuchiki, to sit with them under the usual tree.

Glancing up from her rice ball, Tatsuki stared at the horrifying appetizer in Orihime's hands, feeling her stomach shudder. She was already a bit nauseous from Rukia's 'innocent angel' act. "You made _another_ one of those things?"

A quick story, if we may. One day, while at Orihime's apartment, Tatsuki made the absolutely brilliant decision to act as a taste tester for Orihime's newest foodstuff, in order to cheer her up from the comments some low-life hussies had made about her during the school day. Out of the kitchen popped the very disaster now being nibbled upon by adorable lips. Tatsuki had (by some divine miracle) managed to eat the entire thing with a smile, but the aftereffects to her stomach were almost as bad as those whores looked after meeting her fists. She spent the next two days home from school, using the Internet to familiarize herself with the term 'gastrointestinal surgery'.

And now back to your scheduled lunchtime gossip.

"Rukia, do you have the hots for Ichigo?"

Rukia spit her chocolate milk out like a geyser, casting a mini-rainbow over the stream of brown liquid. Apparently, that was an exclusive power of the Shadow Samurai Slasher Squad.

"Huh?" she said dumbly, looking over at Mahana as beads of milk dripped from her chin.

"More to the point, exactly what is your current relationship with him, honestly?" Mahana leaned in a bit, peering at her with the eyes of a master detective, searching, searching...

Tatsuki would never admit it to anyone, but right now, she wanted to spell out Mahana's name in a cheer.

" _Relationship?_ " said Rukia, wiping her incredulous face – or rather, chin – with a pink handkerchief. "We're just... uh..."

"Hey, what's the hot topic?" said Michuru, walking up behind Tatsuki and sitting next to her, upon the grass. She had been trying to ditch Chizuru in a game of 'Track and Tackle', Tatsuki guessed; that was probably the reason she was late. Michuru was usually Chizuru's rebound victim after taking a sufficient beating.

"Oh, we're just on the verge of Rukia confessing her love for our favorite Strawberry," said Tatsuki, grinning wildly. Two birds with one stone – and now Ichigo might _never_ get rid of that nickname. _Strawberry. Bruises easily. Hehe._

Michuru looked shocked. "Ichigo? Really?" She swiveled on her knees, facing Rukia, staring at the dumbfounded look plastered upon her face. "Is that true, Rukia?" she added innocently.

"Don't play oblivious," said Mahana, scolding her. "I'm asking for you, since _you_ wanted to know."

"T-that wasn't me!"

"Uh-huh." Mahana's skepticism slid away as she looked to Tatsuki. "Isn't that how it started?"

"Dunno," said Tatsuki with a shrug, feigning ignorance to save her friend some embarrassment. "Michuru doesn't really get along with Ichigo, though."

"It's not that I don't get along with him..." Michuru was pressing her index fingertips together now, acting all shy and meek. Key word: acting. She could be pretty bold when she needed to be. "I just think his face is a _little_ scary..."

"Really?" asked Orihime, after swallowing another bite of what would make Takeru Kobayashi weep. "I think he has a funny face."

Michiru was spinning on her knees again. "Well of course _you'd_ say that. You've been friends with him for years!"

Rukia wiped the last remnant of milk from chin, looking to the side, seeming uninterested – but suddenly, Mahana pounced, dragging her back into the conversation.

"So?" she asked, peering at Rukia curiously. "When it comes down to it, what's the deal?"

Rukia paused for a moment, staring past the group, off into space. Then, slowly, she dipped her head, staring at the blades of grass in front of her. "... Ichigo is..."

Tatsuki's eyebrows slipped upward. _Huh?_

Rukia lifted her chin, smiling, with a strange look in her eyes. It was almost dreamy – almost wistful, as if there were some grave inherent sadness hidden deep behind her violet irises.

"... very important to me."

There was a collective jawdrop.

 _What?_ Tatsuki stared at Rukia in shock, and a half-eaten riceball slipped through her fingers. _What the hell? I was kidding!_

"I knew it! I knew there was something going on!" Mahana leaned in even closer to Rukia, hushing her voice a bit for privacy. "Are you two together? Does he even know?"

"Oh, no. It's not like that." Rukia shook her head, and smiled a different smile – that usual demure one, the one Tatsuki was certain was fake. "We're just friends."

"What? No way! You should totally confess to him, Rukia!" said Michiru, bubbly, way louder than she should have been.

"It's not really that simple..."

"Sure it is!" said Orihime. She held up a fist of determination, shifting into matchmaker mode. "You should go for it, not hold anything back, aim straight for the heart!" She gave the air a quick little jab, smiling, and looked to the side. "Right, Tatsuki?"

 _She's actually_ encouraging _her?_ "Uh, yeah," said Tatsuki, still dumbfounded.

"You think so?"

The conversation went on that way for a while: Mahana prying for info, Michuru urging dramatic confessions unheard of in real life, and Orihime filling in as the second half of the one-two punch. As for Tatsuki, she kept quiet, doing her best to blend into the background. She watched them, watched Rukia, watched for another crack to spring up in that angelic facade. But there was nothing – no strange expressions, no misplaced words, no indication of any hidden truths beyond the surface. All Tatsuki had were images that could barely be called memories, and a sliver of a glimpse into a girl who, more often than ever, left her dumbstruck and wondering.

Just who the hell was she – and what was she to Ichigo?

At the end of the day, only one thing could be certain.

Rukia was a mystery.

* * *

The following day, the girl known as Rukia Kuchiki ceased to exist.

She vanished from Karakura Town without a tangible trace. There were no records of her enrollment in Karakura High, no tales of her crashing the local Don Kanonji broadcast, no rumors about a budding crush on Ichigo. No-one seemed to remember her, nor had they ever heard of her name. Rukia had, essentially, become a mere figment of imagination.

At first, Tatsuki had thought that Rukia's words were like her own memories. Maybe the meaning that she thought was real was actually fake, and the meaning that truly was real simply didn't exist in her mind. Maybe she had misconstrued the sentence, misinterpreted the words, misunderstood what Rukia was really trying to say.

But during that day, an idea found her.

Maybe that point in time had been a moment of weakness, a moment of truth. Maybe, for just a moment, Rukia had wanted to feel normal, to feel like she belonged. Maybe she knew what was coming. Maybe, just maybe, she wanted to find a bit of happiness before her life in Karakura was over.

But she had made one crucial mistake.

She had assumed that, eventually, she would vanish from memory. She had assumed that she would disappear.

Tatsuki strode down the hall, side-by-side with Orihime, passing Ichigo on their way to class.

Memories had a habit of hiding where you least expected them.


	4. Chapter 4

**4\. Orange is the New Black**

Sitting at his desk in Classroom 1-8, Ichigo Kurosaki stared through the corner of his eye at the empty seat to his right.

Rukia's seat.

It didn't seem right for it to be empty – but he knew that sentiment was confined only to himself. The memories of all his other classmates, all the other students, nearly everyone in the town – the memories of Rukia – had been wiped clean. Looking around, it was becoming obvious that not a single person in this class remembered her.

Except, maybe, for one. But he couldn't be sure of that at the moment. A desk at the front of the classroom – the desk belonging to Uryu Ishida – was also empty.

 _Damn it. Even Uryu decided to ditch today._

It was the end of the last school day before summer break, but needless to say, Ichigo didn't feel like celebrating. Getting his ass kicked by those bastards from the Soul Society, having one of the people closest to him disappear into the night, not knowing what the hell would happen to her – all of it made an event like this seem trivial, even pointless, in comparison. Maybe it was everything they had been through together – a free fall into alternate worlds, alternate lives, for both of them. Maybe that was the reason behind this feeling.

Or maybe it was the desire to find that spiky-haired reject and Rukia's so-called brother, cut them off at the knees, and drag her back to where she belonged.

Either way, he knew that he was alone in this feeling. The chatter around him, the jokes and the laughter, made sure to remind him of that.

"Okay class, since I know you're all raring to get out of here..." began Misato Ochi, placing her hands atop the lectern and grinning their way. "Please take your seats, and we'll skip through the summer agenda."

When Ochi-sensei said the phrase 'skip through', she sure as hell meant it. One could imagine that, if she had one on hand, she would be sipping from a cup of coffee as she quickly flipped through the pages, her eyes running over words with disinterest. She simply read the titles of each topic aloud, adding a short, barely sufficient explanation after each, as if she were reiterating the talking points of some political debate that she had no interest in whatsoever. Though, since each student already had the same packet, and summer assignments were fully explained on its pages, reading the whole thing out loud would have been redundant. Still, Ichigo guessed that she wanted to get the hell out of here just as much, if not more so, than the students themselves.

"Well now, I guess that's all for the agenda," said Ochi, flipping the packet closed. She held it up, aiming one of its top corners toward the class, grinning. "Don't die before September! You're dismissed!" Geez, she was already heading for the door, even before the students could stand.

Ichigo stared at the classroom door, at the bodies streaming through the opening, with his wrist upon his chin. A minute later, when only a few students were left in the classroom, he let out an aggravated sigh. Standing from his seat, he grabbed his school bag and headed for the exit.

At the back of the classroom, Sado Yasutora still sat at his desk, head lowered, appearing to review the open packet, unassuming.

And following Ichigo to the door with his eyes.

* * *

"So you're staying behind to talk with her?"

"Yeah," said Tatsuki, nodding. She was standing with Orihime just inside Classroom 1-3's door, off to the side to make way for passing classmates. "I don't want to lose a friend over something so stupid. The sooner I do this, the better."

 _Losing a friend,_ Tatsuki thought. Losing an imaginary friend – one that she had simply made up.

Even after thinking about it all day, this was the most believable thing she could come up with. The story was simple: she was friends with a girl Orihime had never met, and this girl thought Tatsuki was avoiding her; so, three days ago, they had gotten into a huge argument about drifting apart, and Tatsuki wanted to clear the air with her before it was too late. She knew the story had a few holes (thank God Orihime hadn't asked the girl's name), but it seemed plausible enough to work.

After all, the truth wasn't so far off: Tatsuki was actually staying behind to confront Ichigo, to ask him why Rukia had vanished into thin air.

Orihime was quiet for a moment, staring at Tatsuki with a look of concern that somehow seemed odd – but then, she smiled. "All right. I guess I'll head home, then." She paused, glancing down at the school bag hanging from her hands, then looked back up at Tatsuki. "I really hope things work out. I know how hard losing a friend can be."

"Yeah. Thanks, Orihime." Turning, Tatsuki headed towards the door, then glanced over her shoulder, adding: "I'll catch up with you later, and let you know how it went."

Damn. She might have screwed herself with that last part. Too late now.

Tatsuki stepped out into the hall, joining the few students lucky enough to be released from their last class ahead of schedule, and wasted no time in heading towards Classroom 1-8. At times, she thought that this school's layout was weirder than all the supernatural crap going on in this town: Ichigo's homeroom class was only two numbers away, but '6 to 12' was in a hall on the far opposite side of the building. Maybe the person who had designed the system was into Feng Shui, and wanted to balance the numbers, or something. Whatever the reason, it took her a few minutes to make her way over there – and, by the time she had, the last bell before summer had rung, sending rejoicing students streaming into the halls.

Tatsuki shoved her way through the crowds, ignoring the looks telling her where she could shove her rudeness, and ended up just outside 1-8's wide-open door. She walked inside – and blinked.

The place was deserted. Only two people – some auburn-haired jock and his ditzy-looking girlfriend – were still inside, fawning all over each other in what they mistook for privacy.

Tatsuki tried not to gag. Unfortunately, before she could slip out of the classroom, Auburn Hair's eyes found her, glaring. "You need somethin'?"

"Oh. Yeah." Tatsuki glanced around the room. "Where is everybody?"

"Are you blind? They _left._ "

Her first thought was: _Prick._

Her second was: _Damn, I missed him!_

She dashed out of the room without a word, leaving the two to suck each others' faces. The crowded halls became her raceway, and the school's front entrance was the first checkpoint. Her own class had been let out early, so Ichigo couldn't have had that much of a lead over her. She knew she could still catch up to him.

But, when she finally reached the glass double doors, when she stepped out into daylight, something odd caught her attention. She came to an abrupt halt among the passing students, standing still with a confused look upon her face. Her head turned slightly, and she stared off at what seemed to be nothing.

 _Orihime said she was going home._

But Orihime wasn't heading in that direction. That 'being watched' feeling didn't lie. But apparently, Orihime did, because she was sitting still along a route that Tatsuki knew pretty well.

The route that led to Tatsuki's house – and the route that led to the Kurosaki Clinic.

Glaring at air, Tatsuki took off, heading towards the feeling at the speed of a track star.

Time to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

They were sitting in the middle of an outdoor stairway that led down to a lower street.

The original plan went something like this: run up to them, yell at Orihime for keeping such a dangerous secret from her, and sock Ichigo in the jaw. Tatsuki's anger would have to wait, though: she had been lucky enough to sneak up on them without being seen, and the low stone wall at the very top of the staircase was a perfect place to hide. Still, even though their backs were toward her, she had to be careful not to let herself be caught. Kneeling, staying low, with her left shoulder pressed against concrete, she leaned forward, peeking out around the corner, trying to stay within earshot.

"When did it start?" was the first thing she could catch. Ichigo's voice.

"... After the thing with my brother."

A long pause. "I see."

"You know, I'm really thankful for what happened back then," said Orihime, with veiled sadness within her voice. "For you guiding my brother." She seemed to lift her head, as if she were staring towards the distant horizon. "I'm sure he's happy on the other side."

Immediately, Tatsuki felt like this conversation was one that she shouldn't be hearing – and not for the reasons she originally had in mind. This was something private, something personal, something completely unrelated to the weird events that had been going on in this town. Guilt shot into her heart, and she almost convinced herself to shrink away in shame, and to let the rest of this conversation stay the way it was intended – as something only for Ichigo and Orihime.

But then, she realized, something didn't add up.

Sora – Orihime's brother – was in his late twenties when he died. She remembered that day clearly. She remembered Ichigo's frantic voice on the phone. She remembered rushing over to the Kurosaki Clinic. She remembered the blood on the front doorstep. She remembered Orihime sobbing uncontrollably inside the living room. She remembered holding her as tightly as her arms would allow. She remembered the tremors.

That year, Tatsuki was twelve years old. As was Orihime.

As was Ichigo.

What the hell would a twelve-year-old have done to guide someone in their twenties?

"I wonder if Rukia's doing well there, too," said Orihime.

Tatsuki's eyes shot wide open.

 _Rukia's... dead?_

A flood of thoughts. Orihime knew. Orihime was lying. Rukia was alive. Rukia didn't exist. She was going crazy. She heard Orihime wrong. None of this could be...

"She must have friends and family there, too," added Orihime.

Ichigo went tense. "... I've got to bring her back."

Orihime looked over at him in surprise. "But... If she's happy there, isn't that..."

A pause. "Right now, she's... in a situation where she could be killed at any time."

Tatsuki stared down at them in bewilderment. Just what the hell was going on? Her memories were real, she was sure of that now; Rukia _had_ existed – but first she was dead, and then she was going to be resurrected, and now she was alive? None of that made any sense!

And Orihime _knew_ about all of this. By the sound of it, she had known for a–

Shit, she was standing up!

Tatsuki slipped back behind the wall, out of sight, her heart pounding. _Can't let her see me like this. She'll know that I was–_

 _'Spying?'_

Tatsuki's heart froze. Her eyes darted around the street before her – but found nothing. Not a single soul was upon the path.

 _'Why so worried?',_ said the voice, followed by a snicker. _'Isn't she keeping secrets from you, too?'_

The voice that she recognized. The voice inside her head. The voice from the park. The voice of that monster.

Tatsuki's eyes flew upward, looking, searching, terrified of what they might find. But the orange sky of the sunset was cloudless and clear. There were no monstrous white masks peering down at her, no giant teeth gnashed together, no beady yellow eyes, no black–

Wait a minute.

Tatsuki's eyes stopped upon the top of a nearby streetlight, just atop the steel covering of the lamp bulb. Raising an eyebrow, she stared up at the spot, up at its occupant. There _were_ beady yellow eyes aimed at her – but they belonged to a cat. A black cat. Somehow, it had managed to get up onto that perch, and was simply sitting there. Just sitting there, resting upon its haunches, quiet and still, gazing down at her with a look that almost seemed questioning.

Now, Tatsuki wasn't – or, prior to all of this, _hadn't been_ – all that superstitious, but the sight of that cat up there _crept her right the fuck out._

Was that cat really one of those things in disguise? Was that where the voice was coming from? Was it talking to her?

Sure. Absolutely. She was a pet psychic. At this rate, she'd fit right in at the nearest mental asylum. _The cat told me to do it! Why won't you believe me?_

Tatsuki gave her head a quick little shake, trying to snap herself back into reality. When she looked back at the streetlight, the cat was gone.

 _Just a mirage,_ she told herself. Her mind was playing tricks on her, making her see and hear things that weren't really there. She was drawing off memories, scaring herself with delusions. It was easy to do when you weren't sure what was _real._

Ignoring her developing headache, she turned her attention back to the staircase, leaning forward a bit, peering around the corner cautiously.

Ichigo was gone. He must have headed off somewhere while she was preoccupied. Orihime, however, was still within view, standing at the very bottom of the stairs, looking off down the street.

Tatsuki drew back behind the stone barrier, sitting, waiting. Running down there right now meant Orihime might realize that she had been eavesdropping. She had to hold off for a minute – to wait for Orihime to start moving away – before she could confront her about this.

A few seconds later, Tatsuki felt her begin to move down the street. She rose to her feet and gazed over the concrete wall, focusing in on orange hair, watching as Orihime turned a corner up the block.

And she took the first step down the staircase.

* * *

Two minutes later, as Orihime Inoue was heading towards home, trying to merge into her usual route, a familiar voice called out her name.

She stopped in her tracks.

The hurried footfalls came to a stop behind her. She swallowed. _This is bad._ _Think of something..._

"Orihime...?"

Orihime looked over her shoulder, giving Tatsuki a curious blink. The setting sun was behind her, casting an orange glint against the black spikes of her hair, shadowing her face. Only a glance, and Orihime knew that she was upset. It was hidden in her eyes.

"Tatsuki?" she said, appearing surprised. She turned, facing Tatsuki, her school bag brushing against her knees. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Why are you here?"

 _She knows._

"What do you mean?" asked Orihime, smiling cheerfully.

"Stop playing dumb!" shouted Tatsuki – and immediately, she shrank back, swallowing, seeming to apologize with expression rather than words. Her eyes drifted towards the ground. "I... want to know what you're doing out here."

"Huh?" Orihime stared at her curiously. "I'm taking a detour to the supermarket."

"Supermarket?"

"Yeah," said Orihime, nodding. She leaned forward a bit, giving Tatsuki that slightly impish smile that came with secrets. "I heard there's a secret After-Sunset Sale going on today. I'm going to snag some ingredients while the prices are still cheap."

Tatsuki was quiet. She simply stared at her, looking surprised and yet not, lips hovering between speaking and silence.

"You want to come along?" asked Orihime, cringing inside her mind. _And find out there isn't one?_

"... No, I've..." said Tatsuki – and she seemed to snap out of a daydream. "I've got practice over at Furin today. We're going over some techniques before we leave."

"Oh." Orihime's chin drifted downwards. "That's too bad."

Quiet.

"... Orihime?"

She raised her head. "Hm?"

"We're still on for that festival in August... right?"

Orihime smiled. "Yeah, of course!"

Tatsuki was silent for a moment. Then, she nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna head on over there. I won't hear the end of it if I show up late." An odd smile crossed her face as she raised her hand and turned. "See you around!"

Orihime parted her lips to respond, but Tatsuki had already begun running back down the street. Within a few seconds, she turned the corner, disappearing from view.

Orihime stood in that spot, unmoving, for a minute or so. She stared at the corner, then at the road, and then at her feet.

"That must have been hard for you. You two seem close."

Orihime lifted her eyes, following the voice, following its sincerity. Her gaze stopped upon the bordering wall of a nearby home.

Upon the black cat that sat upon it, regarding her with yellow eyes.

"... Yes."

* * *

Tatsuki did go to Furin Hall – her dojo – that evening. She did have practice scheduled with her sensei, practice for the tournament. She did spend the greater part of the session sparring with both him and the two other students who had qualified for the Nationals.

Unlike Orihime, her story wasn't a lie.

What had happened to the girl who used to tell her everything? Where was the person who would never keep a secret from her? Where was her best friend?

It was as if she had vanished – as if she had disappeared along with Rukia, along with honesty, along with trust.

Tatsuki's fist struck the _makiwara_ with weakened force.

Tokyo was 346 miles away.

When it came to their friendship, she may as well have already been there.


	5. Chapter 5

**5\. Strangers on a Train**

It was raining on the morning that Tatsuki left Karakura Town.

No-one was at the train station to see her off. No Ichigo; no Orihime; no Michuru, Mahana, or Chizuru. Not that she expected the last three to be there: she knew that Michuru and Mahana were already on vacation with their friend Ryo, at her parents' beach house, and that Chizuru (who she didn't miss, damn it) had convinced the three to let her come along, and that someone (probably Michuru) was going to regret that decision for a long, long time.

As for Ichigo, she had actually stopped by his house to say goodbye – but his little sisters, Karin and Yuzu, had told her that he hadn't been home since last afternoon, and that, according to him, he probably wouldn't be back for a day or two.

And that prompted her to call Orihime, who was apparently one of the few people that knew where the hell he was, and ask her about the very same thing. And, apparently, she didn't know, but she was sure that he was fine, and she was sure that Tatsuki shouldn't worry, and she was sure that he'd be at the fireworks festival in August, too.

In other words, she knew the exact reason why Tatsuki had double-checked with her about the festival. She knew what Tatsuki was worried about – she knew that she _knew_ – and was intentionally keeping her out of the loop.

But was Tatsuki cynical about all of this?

 _Nooo, not at all._

Once again, the thought of canceling this whole damn trip came into mind. This was something she had been looking forward to for years – something she _wanted,_ something she dreamed about – but the events of the last few days were more than enough to make her question what was really most important. She had no idea what kind of danger Ichigo was about to get himself into, or how much Orihime was involved, or where Rukia was, or even whether Rukia was still alive. And since none of her _friends_ would let her in, she had no way of finding any of this stuff out.

Except, maybe, for stalking Orihime around town using that psychic power, but resorting to that would be the same as not trusting her at all.

And Tatsuki did trust her, despite everything that had gone on. Orihime was her best friend, after all. They had been together for as long as she could remember. She knew that Orihime must have had a good reason for keeping all this from her, or at least good intentions. She _had_ to trust her.

Even if, at the moment, she felt like that trust wasn't mutual.

Tatsuki sighed, and looked up at the cloudy sky out beyond the covered canopy of the train platform. She was leaning against one of the concrete pillars that supported the metal structure, dressed in blue jeans and a gray hoodie with a small black dragon design, hands in the hoodie's pockets, heels tapping against the black suitcase sandwiched between her feet and concrete. The place was relatively uninhabited, even though it was around 7 AM on a weekday morning; very few people who worked in the larger outlying cities called Karakura home, so there wasn't much in the way of daily transit traffic.

Someone called out her name from back near the ticket registrars. Looking to her left, Tatsuki found one of her peers from the dojo – a taller, black-haired guy named Takeshi Mizuhara – jogging over towards her. He was wearing jeans and a forest green windbreaker, white T-shirt underneath, brown suitcase in hand.

"Well, I'm glad you showed up, at least," said Tatsuki, once Takeshi came to a halt next to her. "Where are Yuu and Sensei?"

"Running late. They said they'd make it here in time, though." Takeshi lifted his arm, checking his watch with thin hazel eyes. They widened a bit. "Past seven already..."

Tatsuki tapped her foot, narrowing her eyes at nothing in particular. "They better be. The train's going to be here in ten minutes."

Takeshi grinned, standing at attention, giving her a mock little salute. "Yes, Team Captain! I'll make sure to relay the orders!"

(Takeshi could be somewhat of a dork.)

But, rather than smiling as she usually would, Tatsuki rolled her eyes, looking off to the side, towards the empty rails past the train platform. Takeshi went blank-faced, blinking.

"What's the deal? I thought you'd be excited about this." He frowned as he noticed her foot tapping against stone. "You having second thoughts?"

Tatsuki stared off at the clouds that filled the graying skies.

"No. Just nerves, I guess."

* * *

Luckily, both their teacher and Yuu did make it to the station on time, with only a few minutes to spare. Tatsuki thought it was a little backwards for her own sensei to be the last one to arrive, but she didn't comment on it – partly because of student-master respect, and partly because he was one of the few people that could demolish her in hand-to-hand combat.

The tickets to Tokyo were being provided courtesy of the AKA (also known as the Adolescent Karate Association), which, naturally, was the group that held the national tournament each year. The rules for qualification could be considered somewhat complex; the league was broken down into several subdivisions, and each designated area had to establish a team of three fighters in order to compete. These teams were then matched up against each other in more localized tournaments, and a point system was used to gauge the overall score of each team based on individual matches. That determined which teams would move up to the next tournament in the ladder.

But, in Tatsuki's case, it was a little more simple. She had placed first in the female division of her area's regional tournament, so Team Karakura was heading to the Nationals.

And that was that.

She tossed her suitcase onto the wall-inset bed of her cabin, and slipped her hoodie up over her head, tossing it atop the suitcase, revealing a black T-shirt with a white rose print underneath. The cabin was a dual bed-bunk type: the fancier kind that wasn't quite spacious, yet wasn't quite a sardine can. She was thankful for that – but there were a few other problems that developed from having to share a cabin.

Such as Takeshi, who was already lying upon the top bunk, staring down at her with a cheeky grin.

"Come on, Arisawa. Just because it's a co-ed cabin, you can't just start undressing right in front of me."

Tatsuki glared up at him from underneath her brow, clenching a fist at her side. "Do you _want_ me to come up there?"

The grin only widened. "Sure, join me up on the _top bunk._ " He patted its edge lovingly, relishing in her anger.

 _Damn Mizuhara._ Overall, he was a nice guy, but he had a hell of a bad habit of not knowing when _not_ to flirt.

Tatsuki considered opening her suitcase and finding a suitable object to chuck at his forehead; but instead, she turned and stepped back towards the cabin door, only glancing over her shoulder. "I'm heading out for a while," she said, and held up fingers, index and middle of each hand. She smirked as she quoted the air. "Enjoy your 'love nest'."

She could have sworn he pouted at that.

The rest of the train was pretty high-class, too; that went for both the amenities and the passengers. It was one of those state-of-the-art models, all futuristic-looking on the outside and ritzy on the in, only populated by people that looked like they had all the time in the world to get to their destination. Cushioned seats, attendants that acted more like waiters, stainless steel framing that you could see your reflection in – that sort of deal. The thing even had its own dining car, with small tables in between the booths. It wasn't that surprising, though: Tatsuki thought that any train with cabins for cross-country travel would have to be high-class.

She had found a seat at one of the dining car booths, and was gazing out the rain-spattered window, eating syrup-coated waffles so expensive the platter should have been silver (yay all-expense-paid trips) – when _he_ showed up.

He was a strange-looking guy, though strange might not have been quite strong enough of a word. His hair was the color of hay, but not coarse in the slightest; it framed his face in a sort of bob – an odd style that would have looked appropriate on a fashion show judge. His eyes were narrow – a bit like Takeshi's – but there was a deceptive quality to them, as if one couldn't really see what was going through the mind beyond. He was wearing a formal black shirt with a gray tie and slacks, yet he didn't seem to be the business type at all. The case he carried – long, thin, black – looked more appropriate for holding an instrument, but Tatsuki couldn't imagine him playing clarinet.

But the thing that stood out most about him was his teeth. The guy had a mouth like a horse; she was half-expecting him to neigh when he sat down in the seat across from her. Instead, though, he laid the case out across his lap, placed an elbow upon the table, rested his chin on raised knuckles, and stared out the window.

"Well, this is a depressing view," he said, sounding apathetic, even lazy.

Tatsuki looked up at him with an annoyed glance, but said nothing. She took another bite of her breakfast.

"Can you believe they put all this on trains these days?" He nodded toward the car's interior, sort of an all-around motion. "Just for something that takes people place to place. You could probably live on one of these things."

"Do you always sit down and chat with complete strangers?" asked Tatsuki, from the corner of her mouth that wasn't still chewing.

"No, not usually. I'm making an exception this time." His eyes moved to hers, and a toothy smile slid onto his face. "You're Tatsuki Arisawa, am I right?"

Tatsuki swallowed, and then narrowed her eyes at him. His eyebrows slipped upward slightly; maybe he thought he had the wrong person. "And you are?"

"Shinji Hirako. I don't think we've met." He offered his hand across the table, still smiling that unsettling little smile.

His introduction reminded Tatsuki of a slithering snake; so naturally, she didn't meet him on the handshake. She set her fork back upon its plate, then leaned back, giving him a half-hearted half-smile.

"I didn't know I had a fan club." Her eyes followed her hand, moving to a glass of iced Pepsi. "So you have a seat for Tokyo, huh?"

Shinji blinked at her, looking confused.

"For the AKA. The championships," she added. She raised her glass, then paused, raising an eyebrow. "You're not spectating?"

"Oh, I'm not heading that far out. Organized fighting isn't really my thing." His knuckles came to rest upon the table, and a slightly devious smile crossed his teeth. "Actually, I'm here for another reason."

Tatsuki tensed up. _Great. Not a fan: a stalker._

"You wanna explain how you know my name?" said Tatsuki, in more of a demand than a request.

"Someone provided that information. An acquaintance of mine, you could say." There was that slyness – that quality that screamed 'dangerous' to Tatsuki.

"And who–"

"Isn't important." He leaned forward a bit, his grin widening. "Aren't you more interested in the _why?_ "

This weirdo was _really_ starting to creep her out.

"I'm more interested in kicking your ass off this train and eating in peace," said Tatsuki, glaring daggers at him.

Shinji laughed, and settled back into his chair with a smile. "Well, you _are_ an interesting one."

Tatsuki gave him a sharp little smirk. "Not very good at picking up chicks, huh?"

That seemed to hit a nerve: Shinji blinked in surprise, and his features sunk into into a sullen look.

"Why don't I just get to the point," he said, turning his attention to the case in his lap. He undid the case's latch, flipping it open.

And lifted a sheathed katana out from within, holding it upright with a grin.

"Can you see this?"

Tatsuki's eyes went wide. She was about to jump up, grab the sword's hilt to keep it sheathed, and punch Shinji in the teeth – but he held up his other hand, held up a forefinger, in pause.

"Hold on..." he said slyly, turning the weapon and placing it atop his side of the table. He looked over to a passing attendant – a thirty-something redhead with freckles. "Excuse me, Miss? How long will it be until we reach Kagemino City?"

The woman stopped, turned, looked directly at him – at the table, at the weapon upon it – and smiled. She lifted her wrist, checking her watch. "We should arrive very soon, sir. Around ten minutes, give or take." She dropped her arm, looking back to him. "Can I get you two anything?"

Shinji raised a palm, smiling. "We're fine. Thank you."

The woman nodded with a smile, and resumed her walk down the aisle. Tatsuki looked on in disbelief, glancing from the woman's back down to the tabletop weapon.

"You get it now?" said Shinji, giving the sword's sheathe a tap of his knuckles.

 _It's invisible to her... Like those monsters._

Intuition kicked in. A certain _other_ sword was probably invisible to most people, too. Maybe an entire other _person,_ sometimes. That definitely would have explained the weird outfit.

"Just who the hell are you?" said Tatsuki, narrowing her eyes. She was still debating whether or not to clobber this weirdo. "One of Ichigo's pals?"

Shinji raised an eyebrow. "Ichigo?"

"Don't play dumb. I've seen him running around with one of those swords, too." Tatsuki leaned back, crossing her arms, and glanced back down at the weapon. "Nothing like that one, but still." _How many invisible swords could there be?_

Shinji placed both arms upon the table, over the sword, and tapped his fingertips against a forearm, looking uninterested. "I don't know any Ichigo. Anyway, that's not really the question here."

"Oh yeah? Then what is?"

"That would be what _you_ are, exactly."

Tatsuki looked at him as if he were a talking horse. "The hell are you talking about?"

"I don't get it," said Shinji, staring at her with lazy eyes. "You don't feel like a Soul Reaper, and you're obviously not a Hollow..." He raised a hand to his ear, sticking a fingertip inside, twisting it back and forth. Maybe he was looking for his brain. "You just look like an ordinary human to me."

"Can't say the same here," said Tatsuki, deadpan.

"Very funny." He rested his chin on the back of his palm, looking back towards the rainy landscape past the window. "This is looking like a giant waste of time. Who knows what she saw in you."

Tatsuki raised an eyebrow – but before she could respond, Shinji sat back, lifting the sword from the table and placing it back into the case. After latching it, he slipped towards the aisle, beginning to stand.

"Hey, hold on!" said Tatsuki, a bit louder than she had intended. An elderly man seated at the back of the car looked up at her.

Shinji glanced at her with an expression that said: 'Eh?'

"Look, you're..." Tatsuki's eyes drifted down to the table, and her fists, resting upon her knees, clenched shut. "You're the only person that's even bothered talking to me about this stuff."

Shinji cocked his head at her, looking a bit surprised.

"My friends... Two of them are caught up in all of this, and they won't tell me anything about what's going on. Three days ago, someone else I know just disappeared out of nowhere. And then I found out that they're the only ones that remember her..." Tatsuki's nails dug into her palms, and she lifted her eyes to Shinji. "Can you at least explain what's going on around here? I need to know. This is driving me crazy!"

Shinji stared at her for a few moments, stared at her pleading eyes.

Then, he sighed, slid back into the booth, and placed his forearms upon the table.

"Where do you want me to start?"

* * *

A Hollow was one of those weird monsters that had attacked her and Orihime.

A Menos Grande was the big Pinocchio-mask versions of said Hollows.

A Soul Reaper was someone in black who 'purified' these Hollows by slashing them with swords called Zanpaktous.

The Soul Society was the other world where all Soul Reapers came from.

And Tatsuki's brain felt like it had just gone through a blender.

"So you're saying that my friend is actually one of these Soul Reaper guys?" asked Tatsuki, incredulous. Shinji nodded. "How the hell can that be? I've known him since we were four!"

"Only one explanation for that," said Shinji. He grabbed the Pepsi upon the table, taking a sip from the opposite side of the glass – _her_ glass – before setting it back down. _Cheap bastard._ "Some other Soul Reaper must have been stupid enough to transfer their power to him." He glanced up at Tatsuki. "That girl you mentioned, Rika or whatever. Did she hang around him often?"

"Rukia." Tatsuki nodded. "It seemed that way, yeah."

Shinji's eyes narrowed a bit. "So that's what this is about."

Tatsuki blinked, then stared at him, waiting for an explanation. Instead, Shinji waved it off with the back of his hand.

"Don't worry about it. This isn't something you should get more involved in than you already are."

A glare. "That same damn thing _again._ I'm sick of everyone thinking that I can't handle this!" said Tatsuki – again, louder than she had intended. She seemed to startle Shinji a bit: he raised an eyebrow at her outburst, then sighed.

"Let me guess. You think that they don't trust you enough to let you in... right?"

Tatsuki looked at him in surprise. Closing his eyes, Shinji leaned back in his seat.

"Look, far be it for me to give advice, or however the hell it goes..." He spun his wrist in a circle, as if the phrase was moving through the air in a corkscrew. "But," he said – and he was looking at her seriously now, maybe even solemnly. "Usually, when someone close to you puts up a wall, it's not because they want to keep you out. They do it because they're trying to protect you from what's on the other side."

Tatsuki stared at him for a moment. Then, her eyes drifted down to the tabletop.

"... I should be the one who's protecting her."

 _Attention, all passengers,_ came a voice over the train's intercom. A slight jolt – a reduction in speed – was its echo. _We are currently arriving in Kagemino City. Departees, please gather your belongings and proceed to Central Cars One, Three, and Five. I repeat, we are currently arriving in Kagemino City. Departees, please..._

Shinji glanced up towards the ceiling, towards the intercom, before lifting his sword case from his lap and slipping over into the aisle. "Well, I can't say this has been fun, but... It's been interesting." Standing now, he looked down at Tatsuki, grinning slightly as he raised a palm. "Take care, stranger. Thanks for the soda!"

The vein in Tatsuki's temple twitched – but then, as he turned, a thought hit her, and she half-stood from the booth. "Hey, wait a minute!"

Shinji looked back over his shoulder, staring with an odd look of confusion.

"If I, uh... need to contact you again," said Tatsuki. She tapped the table with her knuckles, softly, nervously.

Shinji paused for a moment. His features seemed to harden, darkening. "Hopefully, that won't be necessary." He looked back to the aisle, adding: "Warehouse 27, Karakura," before walking away.

Tatsuki watched as he disappeared into the far cabin, then looked out the window as the train slowly came to a stop. There were crowds of people milling about on the station's platform, so she didn't catch sight of Shinji as he disembarked.

But the skies were clear now. The rain had stopped.

A good number of people boarded that train on the way to Tokyo. There were businessmen, tourists, a small family on vacation, and even two other karate teams.

Tatsuki didn't notice any of them.

She spent most of the ride inside her cabin, ignoring Takeshi's comings-and-goings, staring off into space, focusing in on Karakura Town, focusing upon her connection with Orihime – honing it, sharpening it, narrowing her location down to a pinpoint.

Some people carried good luck charms: a pendant, a rabbit's foot, a shark's tooth. Some carried keepsakes that hung close to their hearts.

This would be hers.


	6. Chapter 6

**6\. Catching Dragonflies**

The brunette from Osaka landed on the mat with a slam.

She had been cocky: her grin at the match's onset was proof enough of that. She was the type of fighter that always tried to set the pace of the bout – the type that fought aggressive, the type that needed to be in control. At the first signal, she had charged in, rushing, striking, applying pressure. She must have thought that her experience preceded her, and that her opponent would be too occupied with evasion to counter. Even at four points down, she had stuck with the same strategy, the same blitzes, the same arrogance.

And that's why her head had earned a swift introduction to the top of Tatsuki's foot.

The referee bolted towards the fallen fighter, and the flags of the corner judges shot out in unison. Red: the color of the flags, Tatsuki's belt, her gloves. That strike would add three more points to her lead – but, by the looks of things, this match was already over. The ref was kneeling at the girl's side, asking her if she knew her location, giving quick glances to the doctor on the sidelines. The brunette blinked hazily, nodding, but she made no attempt to rise to her feet.

Ten seconds later, a bell rang through the stadium, and Tatsuki Arisawa won her semi-final bout under a thunderous cry of cheers.

* * *

The finals arrived one hour later.

Inside the windowless dressing room assigned to Team Karakura, under the dim glow of a panel ceiling light, Tatsuki went through her _kata_ in solitude. The energy absorbed through pacing had quickly found another channel in this. Her body flowed through the movements effortlessly, gliding from one stance to the next, her strikes stirring the tranquility of the stale air. She herself was the air: a zephyr in one moment, a squall in the next.

As the five-minute mark loomed closer, Tatsuki reached the end of her forms. She shifted back into a neutral stance, crossing her wrists in front of her waist, and exhaled, slowly, calmly. Her eyes moved to the wall clock just above the door. 3:55 PM.

Time to go.

Takeshi was waiting in the hall outside, leaning up against the wall, arms behind his head. Unlike her, he had already changed out of his karate gi. He was wearing casual clothes: beige trousers, and a fire-red T-shirt under a black overshirt with long sleeves and a turned-up collar. Tatsuki bit down a laugh upon seeing him; she guessed that, even indoors, he'd have been wearing sunglasses, had he had a pair on hand.

"Here comes our champ," said Takeshi, grinning.

"Jumping to conclusions," said Tatsuki, not quite admonishing. She began her walk down the hall, joined by him. "Hopefully, you'll be saying that _after_ the match."

"I'd bet on it. I saw how things with that little fireball ended."

Her last match, he meant. Takeshi had been eliminated from his division before the quarter-finals, so there wasn't much left to do but spectate. The competition must have been rough: he was a skilled fighter, though lacking in discipline in a few areas.

Tatsuki's eyes slid over to him. "Sensei's gonna chew you out for showing up on the sidelines in that."

"I think he'll be too busy celebrating," he answered, giving Tatsuki a smile. Looking back to the hall ahead, he added: "Besides, he can't expect us to stay in uniform for the whole tourney."

"Where is he, anyway? Ringside?"

"Yeah. I figured I'd come check on you before he came blazing through here." Takeshi furrowed his brow hard, scowling, in an imitation of their teacher's 'fuming face'. That earned a grin from her, but it faded a bit as his expression turned serious. "You're cutting it close with the time, though. Nerves?"

Tatsuki chuckled, looking down at herself. "I'm past nerves right now."

Takeshi glanced over at her, blinking. He probably didn't know how to take that. "Calm as ever, huh?"

"On the surface, I guess," said Tatsuki, smiling.

In a few steps, they came upon a brightly-lit open doorway – the entrance to the stadium floor. Tatsuki stopped, peering out towards the karate ring. She could see the corner judges in their chairs,the referee glancing around in his official suit, the hundreds of fans lining the distant stands...

 _Hell of a time for jitters._

"Well, I should probably head out there first," she said, giving him a small smile. Now they were in her voice. "If we go out together, they might think you're my manager, or something."

"I could totally pass for that." Takeshi crossed his arms, dipping his chin and looking up from under his brow, staring with the stony gaze of a bouncer. He raised one palm, deepening his voice to a comical level. "Hands off, guys. No autographs."

Tatsuki laughed, raising a gloved hand as she turned. "See you in three minutes."

"Uh, Tatsuki!"

Blinking, Tatsuki turned back towards him – and felt a hand grasp her shoulder gently. She glanced down at it, then looked back up at Takeshi in confusion.

He smiled. "Good luck."

She stared at him for a moment, stared blankly.

Then, she smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

4-3, up by one. _Goddamn_ was this girl hard to land a hit on.

Her opponent for the finals was a tall, sharp-chinned butterfly that flitted about the mat as if she were weightless. Her black ponytail whipped from side to side with each dodge, and her narrow eyes seemed to keep a constant lock on every movement of her adversary. Even worse, she had a slightly longer reach than Tatsuki (who was only 5'1''), so playing defensive was the equivalent of asking to be tagged.

The gray-haired referee swept his outstretched arms together with a shout of: "Begin!"

Tatsuki jolted forward from her line slightly, hoping to lure the girl into throwing a strike, trying to create an opening. No good, though: her opponent simply bounced upon the balls of her feet, closing the distance slowly, looking for an opportunity to strike.

And then suddenly, a rush. The girl's left fist flew past Tatsuki's jaw, missing thanks to a quick dodge to the side. Her right followed, but it was blocked by a forearm. Tatsuki countered with a quick side kick aimed at her right abdomen, but the girl shifted away just in time; it only glanced against her forearm. Tatsuki gave chase, sending her fists after her retreating opponent, keeping the gap closed. One miss, two blocks, and the girl was stumbling backwards. Perfect opportunity for a clean–

And then the girl spun into a roundhouse kick.

Heel aimed at the chin, coming too fast. Can't jump back. Only way is–

Tatsuki dashed in for a sweep, raising a stiff right arm to block the blow – but not quickly enough. As she kicked the girl's other leg out from under her, the heel smashed into the middle of her forearm.

 _Snap._

Tatsuki felt it. Oh, she _felt_ it. With her good arm, she was barely able to land a blow on the downed girl; the cry that accompanied the attack was more of agony than anything else. When the girl had risen to her feet, Tatsuki was still on her knees, on the mat, holding her right elbow. The referee dashed in, kneeling next to her, and made a frantic motion towards the doctor on the sidelines.

Out of the corner of her eye, Tatsuki saw his waving hand, and yelled in protest: "No!"

The referee turned his head, looking at her in shock. "You don't..." he began – then he snapped into official status. "I'm sorry, I cannot allow someone with serious injuries to continue!"

Gritting her teeth, Tatsuki rose to her feet, standing a moment before the 10-second bell was set to chime. She looked towards the referee's astonished face, struggling to keep the pain off her own. "It's not serious. I'm okay, I can keep going."

The referee paused, then glanced around nervously, as if he was hoping to pass the decision off to someone else.

But then, he motioned the competitors back to their starting lines.

Tatsuki bit down hard upon her lower lip as she turned and walked back to her line. Her right arm hung limp, throbbing, at her side. On the sidelines, Takeshi was pale, staring at her with a look that said: 'Are you crazy?' Even her sensei – who had no problem running his students ragged through training – was motioning for her to forfeit.

Forfeit. Give up. Quit.

Now why the _fuck_ would she want to do that?

It was 7-3! That ground blow had put her up by four! Who cared if she was hurt? What was one broken arm? This was the championship – and she was _leading!_

The adrenaline swept away the pain. Tatsuki turned on her line, facing her opponent, forcing her right arm to rise into position as the next round began.

She only had to keep it up. She only had to keep her lead.

She'd keep fighting – for as long as she had a leg to stand on!

* * *

The train ride home was relatively quiet.

In the darkness of her cabin, lying in its lower berth, Tatsuki stared up at the metal shelf above her. The upper bunk's bed hadn't made a squeak in hours. She considered raising her left hand and giving the shelf a knock with her knuckles, but decided against it. It was somewhere around 2 AM; Takeshi was probably asleep.

He hadn't said much since boarding. Tatsuki wasn't quite sure of the reason.

Maybe it was the shock of seeing her head to the hospital, or the sight of the cast and sling upon her right arm. Maybe he was pissed off that she had put herself in danger, that her injuries could have been even more serious – or worse, permanent. Or maybe it was disappointment: a drop down from greater heights, the feeling that came with a loss.

A feeling that he thought she shared.

Tatsuki shuffled in the bed, and lifted herself with her left elbow, sitting up. She was careful not to put any pressure on her right arm; there was only a dull ache when she kept it relaxed, but trying to close or straighten her elbow was like putting a red-hot knife against the joint. She shifted slightly, turning, digging into her left jeans pocket. The familiar touch of metal greeted her fingers. She pulled the object out, holding it between her knuckles, tilting it slightly to catch the thin rays of moonlight from the cabin's small window.

Circular; shiny; silver. A blue ribbon trailed down from the top of the medal, brushing against the back of her wrist.

 _AKA,_ it said in the center. _47th Nationals,_ arced across the top. And across the bottom: _2nd Place._

Tatsuki smiled.

It turned out that fighting with a broken limb was a hell of a lot more difficult than she could have imagined. Blocking with her right arm was impossible, after all. It was the equivalent of painting targets on the points that were open to hits. Her opponent had quickly exploited that, focused upon it, turned all of her attention to Tatsuki's weakness.

And Tatsuki had still scored two points on her before the match was over. She had only lost by one.

She rolled the medal into her palm, and, using her thumb and forefinger, bundled the ribbon once against the object's back. Then she slipped it back into her pocket, leaving her hand inside as she nestled back down into bed, closing her eyes. Her fingertips brushed against the ridged edges as she drifted off to sleep.

Trophies were obnoxious anyway.

* * *

The next evening, Tatsuki kept her promise.

She was the first to arrive at Ichigo's house, where they had all agreed to meet up. Ichigo's entire family was heading to the show together, so it was the natural gathering place. Thankfully, over the years, she had gotten used to dodging the flying kicks and hurtling bodies that came with a visit to a full Kurosaki household. When Orihime arrived, Tatsuki was seated on the arm of the sofa, eating potato chips with Karin, watching along as Ichigo and his father did an impromptu fight scene out of what had to be Kung Fu Panda.

"Hey Orihime," said Tatsuki, holding up a hand as Ichigo and Isshin flew across the room.

"Spectator or referee?" added Karin, glancing at their confused visitor. A crash erupted from the far side of the living room, and she was back to following the fight with upturned eyes.

Yuzu, who had just walked in from the kitchen, looked horrified. "You _guys!_ We have company!"

Isshin, who had put Ichigo into a Jiu-Jitsu hold of some sort, looked up in surprise. He sprang up from the floor, dashing over to Orihime and taking her hand in a gentlemanly fashion. "Well, if it isn't my son's lovely young girlfriend! Please accept my humble apologies for not welcom–"

Somehow, the sole of Ichigo's foot found the top of Isshin's head, sending him plummeting face-first into the floor. Ichigo glared down at him, holding up a clenched fist. "Damn it, I told you we're not dating! She's just a friend!"

Isshin turned his cheek against the sole of Ichigo's sneaker, looking up at him with dismay. "How can you deny young love? This is not the warrior's way!"

Orihime blinked at the resumed brawl, then looked to Tatsuki, presumably for explanation.

She simply shrugged with a smile.

After about five minutes of father-son mixed martial arts, Karin broke up the bout (forcibly), and they all headed down to the banks of Karasu River. Karin, Yuzu, and their father had yukatas prepared for the occasion: blue, pink, and a dark olive green, respectively. Ichigo (who wouldn't be caught dead in a yukata) was dressed more casually: purple graphic tee, black jeans.

Tatsuki (also in black jeans and a powder blue tee) wasn't exactly concerned with his attire, though. She was too busy thinking about an earlier statement: one Ichigo had made shortly after she had stepped through his door.

' _I'm heading out on vacation tomorrow.'_

Short, vague, and ordinary. That was how he had wanted it to sound, she was sure. But she knew him too well to believe it.

Wherever he was _really_ going, tomorrow was the departure date – and Tatsuki still wasn't sure what to do about it.

 _Wait... Wasn't that..._

"Hey, guys!" shouted Ichigo. His voice cut Tatsuki's thoughts short; she lifted her chin, looking up to the riverbank past the distant rail at the street's end. Near the rail was Sado, in his usual Hawaiian shirt, and Mizuiro, in a shorts-and-vest getup that would have looked more appropriate on a girl. All together, that made eight people.

" _So now it's finally here, the long-awaited FIREWORKS FESTIVAL!_ "

Oh, and Keigo. So nine.

"Excited, huh...?" said Mizuiro, smiling nervously, taking a small step to the side. He was probably envisioning Keigo as a powder keg: enough fire and 'poof'.

" _Of course! How can I be calm?_ " Keigo's burning eyes turned to Isshin. " _Right, Mr. Kurosaki?_ "

Isshin held up a triumphant finger. "That's right, young man! This special event only comes once a year!" He switched to his thumb, pointing to the festival tents a bit down the river. "So I reserved the very best stand seats at seven this morning!"

" _All right!_ "

Tatsuki swiped an expression right out of Karin's repertoire. _Meeting of the minds, right here._

Isshin looked over his shoulder, grinning at Tatsuki and Orihime. "We're headin' over there. You ladies care to join us?"

"We'll come later," said Tatsuki, giving a little wave. She doubted her answer was heard: Isshin was already leading the charge down the walkway, shouting rally cries with Keigo as the group ran towards the tents. Only she, Ichigo, and Orihime remained behind.

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck, watching the others shrink into the distance. "Well... guess I'll go, too." He looked over his shoulder. "Sorry guys, it's always like this. You know you don't have to come if you don't wanna."

"Oh, it's fine. We'll catch up with you in a little bit." Orihime turned her head, smiling. "Right, Tatsuki?"

"Yeah," said Tatsuki, nodding. "Go ahead, have fun."

Ichigo seemed to sigh. "Right..." He turned away – then stopped, giving them one last glance. "Well, seeya."

The two looked on as Ichigo headed off toward the festival tents. His flash of hesitation wasn't lost on Tatsuki; it meant more than he let on. No use confronting him about it, though. Even if he was aware of her suspicions, she knew he wouldn't have done it differently.

Ichigo was never one for saying goodbye.

"They're all so energetic," said Orihime.

"Seriously. It wears me out sometimes." Forcing a grin, Tatsuki held her cast up, returning a signal from a distant Ichigo. She winced slightly: that sharp pain still sprang up occasionally.

"Does your arm hurt?"

Tatsuki looked over to a concerned Orihime, blinking in surprise. "Oh, no. Not a bit." She looked down at her encased limb, smiling with a tinge of disappointment. "Well, when I think that this is what cost me the championship, it _does_ hurt a _little._ "

"But placing second in the Nationals means you're the second strongest girl in Japan, right?"

Tatsuki lifted her eyes from her arm, but paused on Orihime's outfit. She was wearing a long, pale pink skirt with floral designs, and a light yellow blouse with short sleeves. There was a small emblem on the left side of its chest: a little red heart surrounded by a circle of thorny vines. It didn't look familiar, so Tatsuki figured that it was probably new.

Orihime tilted her head, looking at Tatsuki curiously. She blinked as Tatsuki's eyes suddenly flew up to meet her gaze.

"O-oh! I guess so, yeah."

Orihime smiled, cupping her hands behind her. "See? You're amazing, Tatsuki."

 _Amazing?_ "I'm not," said Tatsuki, looking off to the side. Was it always this warm out at sunset?

"No, really! You're incredible!" Orihime spun with a giggle, catching her eye before scampering further down the walkway. She turned past a break in the rails, taking quick little steps down a staircase, heading to the grassy riverbank.

 _Oh, so we're playing tag, huh?_ Tatsuki smiled as she gave chase, jogging along the pavement, heading towards the stairs. "Hey, wait up!"

When her tennis shoes reached soil, Tatsuki found that Orihime already had.

She was standing at the edge of the riverbank, gazing out at the shimmers and sparkles of the water, watching the sunlight dance along every little lip and purl. In the light of dusk, her hair was like fire: it seemed to hold a natural warmth, glowing along with the river, the horizon, the setting sun. The strands drifted along on a slight breeze, flowing like threads of embers – like a warning sent from something too dangerous to be touched.

"Beautiful."

"It is," said Orihime, admiring the view. She looked back at Tatsuki, who was a bit further up the slope. "It's been a long time since we last came here."

Tatsuki's eyes moved to the sunset. "Yeah, since we only come every Autumn."

 _Wait._

Every Autumn. She and Orihime went to this festival each year; they had for as long as she could remember. But then...

When Orihime had asked her to come, why did it seem like she was asking for the first time?

"Did I ever tell you?"

Blinking, Tatsuki's eyes found their way back to her. Orihime had taken a step forward, and her hands were entwined behind her, forming a cradle just below the tips of her orange locks.

"My brother used to be really good at catching dragonflies." Orihime lifted her chin, gazing up at the fading evening light. "He'd just hold his finger up to the sky, and right away, they'd swoop in and land right on the tip."

Tatsuki opened her lips to respond, but paused.

"I... loved it because it seemed like magic. So, I wanted to do it too." Orihime's eyes drifted down to the water, and a sad smile crossed her face. "... But I never could."

 _Why is she telling me this?_

The question confused Tatsuki – not only the answer, but the reason behind the question itself. Why had it entered her mind? There was nothing wrong with Orihime opening up to her like this. Sure, the story was personal, but they were as close as friends could be. They had practically spent their whole lives together; they could tell each other anything. Keeping secrets was just–

And everything clicked.

It wasn't just about this. It was about everything: Rukia, Ichigo, the secrets, the lies. It was about their friendship. It was about them.

Maybe Orihime was trying to say something without actually saying it.

That she hadn't changed. That she hated the idea of having to hide so much from Tatsuki. That she wished things could be different.

And now Tatsuki remembered.

"Before I left..." said Tatsuki, lifting her eyes from the ground, staring at Orihime. "You told me you're visiting your aunt this week, right?"

"Mm hmm." Orihime kept her gaze on the horizon, watching the last sliver of the sun disappear from view. "Tomorrow, actually."

"Ichigo said he's leaving on vacation tomorrow, too."

A light, nervous laugh. "Is that so?"

Darkness began to slip towards the horizon, moving along smoothly, steadily, like a hand sliding a lid into place upon the box that held the sun.

"... Orihime?"

Orihime looked over her shoulder, curious. Something in Tatsuki's voice seemed... different.

"We've been through a lot together," said Tatsuki, taking a few steps through the grass. She stopped at Orihime's side, staring out onto the water's surface. "You, Ichigo and me."

Orihime's eyes traveled back to the river. "We have."

Tatsuki smiled, her eyes drifting down. "You know... Back when Ichigo and I were kids, I always had to save him from the bullies at school. He got picked on all the time." Tatsuki lifted her chin, giving the sky a chuckle. "Not just about his hair, either. He was such a crybaby back then."

"Really?" Orihime looked over in surprise. "I don't remember ever seeing him cry."

"Oh, this was when we were really little. Around five or six." Tatsuki held her left palm at waist height, measuring up her memory. "All it took was a little tap, back then. He'd turn on the waterworks for anything, even a stubbed toe." Tatsuki's smile turned into a grin. "So when those jerks started messing with him, I had to step in. I'd say, 'Hey, bozos! Get outta here, or I'm gonna kick all of your butts!'"

Orihime giggled, and Tatsuki blushed a bit under the darkness. She looked back to the river, scratching the back of her neck.

"It sounds lame now, I know."

"I don't think so," said Orihime, smiling. "You were looking out for him, showing that you care."

Tatsuki let out a low laugh. "Well, he'd never let me do anything like that now, since the hoods wouldn't let him live it down. But you know... it actually worked back then. They'd all get scared, and go running off as fast as they could..." She paused, staring down into the grass. "So, for a while, we never really had to fight anyone."

This time, Orihime was silent.

"We got into some pretty wild stuff after that. I think I spent as much time over at his house because it's a clinic, than I did actually hanging out with him." Tatsuki raised her eyes, looking into Orihime's. "So I know... that sometimes, you have to do things that seem crazy... when you want to protect someone."

Orihime's lips drifted open, as if she were trying to respond – but all she could do was stare.

Tatsuki looked down. "Rukia is..."

Gray eyes widened.

"She's someone that Ichigo wants to protect, right?"

"Tatsuki... You..."

The first round of fireworks lit up the night sky, covering it with blossoms of yellow, pink, and blue. Neither of them looked.

"It's funny. This whole time, I was angry at you for not being honest with me. But then I realized... just why that really was. What happened to Rukia... Ichigo, and what's he going through... I almost feel that way myself. Just thinking about you vanishing like that – it scares the hell out of me. Sometimes I can't even sleep at night if I feel like something's wrong. And it's been tough lately, with all this... Uh. Well. Guess I'm rambling now, huh..." Tatsuki took a breath; Orihime's hitched. "What I'm trying to say is, I get it now. Why you did that, and why you're going. Hell, if _I_ had magical powers, I wouldn't think twice about it. They might be enough to save someone, and Ichigo's going to need all the help he can get. So if there's a chance, I'd go for it. Just giving up... that's not something I could ever do.

"So..." said Tatsuki, lifting her gaze. A confident smile crossed her lips. "I'm with you on this."

Orihime stared at her, stared with those round ashen irises. Shock was within them, and amazement, and awe – but beyond that, something else. It was faint, delicate, even ethereal, but it was there. For just a moment, inside a single grain of time, Tatsuki thought she saw a spark of color in those irises – like a reflection of the lights, the fireworks, that transformed the black canvas before them into a field of gilded flowers.

Tatsuki's eyes drifted back to the grass. "There's just... something that I want to..."

Orihime's feet stepped into view. Tatsuki blinked, then looked up.

A smile.

Orihime was smiling. Not the usual cheery one, or the one she used to hide sadness, or even that little half-grin that slipped in when Tatsuki had convinced her to join in on something devious.

This one was... different.

It seemed like it was getting bigger, too.

Closer?

 _What's she..._

Closer.

A warmth on her cheek. Orihime's breath on her cheek. She–

 _POP!_

Their bodies jumped in unison; the noise shot through them like a jolt. Tatsuki looked around in alarm, wild-eyed, searching for the source.

And then another. Another pop, loud and echoing – followed by a fizzle.

Another firework. It was one of the noise types, with no light aside from tiny falling embers.

Tatsuki's eyes returned to her front – and found only empty space. Confused, she looked around, quickly spotting Orihime next to a nearby staircase up to the walkway.

"Wow, that round _sure_ was loud!" said Orihime, laughing nervously, taking quick backward steps, wearing the dumbest smile Tatsuki had ever seen. "I... think I'll go over to the stands, so all of us don't get separated later on! Make sure you come, 'kay?"

"Yeah, I'll..." said Tatsuki, staring in wonder as Orihime zipped up the stairs and vanished from view. "Catch up..."

Whoa. Where in the hell had _that_ come from?

Tatsuki had been trying to pry for information – to ask where they were going, where Rukia was, if she was still around here or back in that 'Soul Society' place...

And Orihime had just tried to kiss her.

 _Can't be real._

Tatsuki gave herself a light slap on the cheek, expecting to wake up.

But her surroundings stuck.

She was here. She could feel the tingling from the hit. The cool breeze that drifted across her skin was tangible. The warmth upon her cheeks was more than a memory.

Tatsuki stared down at her fingers, at her open palm.

Then, slowly, she turned her hand over, holding her forefinger out towards the river.

The fireworks picked up after a few seconds. The trails of the next round shot into the air, and Tatsuki closed her eyes, dipping her head with a silent laugh.

A creeping sensation found the top of her finger. Her eyes opened to a dragonfly.

For a moment, she stared down at it in surprise.

Then, she smiled.

 _I'm with you on this._

The dragonfly flitted from her nail, soaring off into the lights that covered the sky.

 _Because I'm coming too._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Sorry about the delay in updates. I'm still alive. Really._

* * *

 **7\. A Double-Edged Hook**

Sleepovers at Orihime's place were rarely all that frightening.

Tatsuki wasn't the type to get the shivers from any flashlight-lit horror stories. In fact, she was pretty good at telling them – but doing that to Orihime usually caused some problems.

One: any remotely convincing story (let's be honest, _any_ story) that reached Orihime's ears instantly became reality.

Two: Orihime couldn't sleep when she was convinced that psychotic, chainsaw-wielding maniacs were lurking past each door, and that meant she would tiptoe around the apartment in the dark, in her pajamas, holding a frying pan at the ready.

And three: Tatsuki couldn't sleep when Orihime was on Full Battle Alert, so she would have to stand guard – or risk being mistaken for an intruder and eating Teflon.

Obviously, Tatsuki took great care to make sure that her second night patrol would go down in history as _The Last._

As for other scary moments... Well, there really weren't any.

The visit from Rukia didn't count: there were fragments of terror, but her memories of that night were hazy, if not entirely fake. She had made a habit of only arriving well after dinnertime, too, so Orihime's death-dealing platters were never a contender. Any horror movies that they might rent didn't stand a chance: she made sure to pick the awful ones, so she'd be too busy cracking jokes at the terrible acting – and Orihime's teary-eyed giggling fits were contagious. So really, in all of the nights that she had spent here, there had never been a time where she had felt true, honest, genuine fear.

First time for everything, she guessed.

Tatsuki drummed her left hand's fingers upon the low-sitting table, glancing around nervously. She was sitting on a green _zabuton_ upon the lavender blue carpet of the living room, indifferent to the cup of green tea before her. Orihime had brewed a quick batch after they had arrived, serving the cup just before darting off to take a quick shower.

The drumming switched to a tapping, then back again.

Sleeping over was Orihime's idea. She had practically _insisted_ on it. Never mind their little awkward moment earlier that night, or the half-baked excuses Tatsuki had come up with to try and get out of this. Nope: Orihime had made it cheerfully clear. Only one thing mattered.

 _'We barely have any time to spend together during summer break – so we should try to make the most of it that we can.'_

After what had happened at the festival, there were _so many ways_ to take that.

Too many ways.

 _Stop,_ Tatsuki told herself, and her hand complied. _You're acting like she's going to walk out here in a towel. It's_ Orihime. _She's nothing like that._

But what _was_ she like, really? More secrets were popping up every day. _That_ had been a total shock. Tatsuki had thought she'd known Orihime inside and out, and...

An image that set her cheeks ablaze.

She felt like slamming her head onto the table. _Inside and out. I'm turning into Chizuru!_

She lifted her chin, looking for the television's remote. She needed something – anything – to distract her, to drown out these thoughts. Her eyes searched the bookshelves to her right, running over romance novels, magazines, a worn-out encyclopedia, a not-so-worn-out cookbook (big surprise)... a potted flower, the living room phone, ceramic figures... a duck, a lucky cat, some kind of robot...

There it was, at the robot's feet!

Tatsuki slid over along the floor, snatched the remote from the mid-height shelf, and flicked on the television. Her thumb tapped against the 'Channel Up' button as the screen shifted from dim to bright. She stopped upon the loudest, most attention-grabbing thing she could find: a car chase scene with blaring horns and skidding tires, probably from some terrible action movie.

She slid back over to her sitting cushion, watching as a sporty coupe sped up the ramp of a car carrier and flew over a police barricade. A cruiser in hot pursuit followed, but it hit the ramp at an angle, flipping onto its roof, landing with one of those massive explosions that were incredibly fake. A huge fireball... red... _orange..._

"Goddamn it!" said Tatsuki – and she hung her head in exasperation.

What the hell was _wrong_ with her? Being nervous was one thing, but now she was _obsessing_ over this. She was seeing Orihime in explosions – like those religious nuts that worshiped idols in trees and pancakes! _Friggin' pancakes!_

And why?

No idea. No clue. Not an inkling of a trace of a suspicion. She cared about Orihime, of course; they were best friends, and she was important to Tatsuki – probably the most important person in her life. Without her, the day-to-day grind of school and karate would just be boring. Those crazy stories kept her on her toes, and those odd quirks made her laugh, and that heartfelt smile made her...

Well, it made her heart speed up a little bit, honestly.

But even so, it wasn't like there was anything _there._ They were just friends. That's all.

Besides, she was straight. Straight as an arrow. She'd never been interested in a girl. Chizuru was an effective deterrent from even _thinking_ about that sort of thing. It wasn't like she found Orihime attractive.

Well, she _was_ cute; Tatsuki had to admit that. But she was cute in the 'Teddy Bear' sort of way, not in the 'I Have The Hots for That Celebrity' way. The feeling was completely platonic. It wasn't like she was... sexy, or anything.

Tatsuki blinked at the thought – and then crossed her left arm over her cast, twisting her lips to the side in aggravation.

Okay. Who _did_ she find attractive?

 _Mizuiro?_

Nah. He was good-looking, but too much of a womanizer.

 _Ichigo?_

No. That would be weird.

 _Kei–_

 _Hell_ no.

 _... Michuru?_

It was odd to think about. She was cute (in that platonic way), but her habits could be annoying sometimes. So no.

 _Chizuru?_

Tatsuki snorted.

 _What about Takeshi?_

Maybe. He was handsome, and funny – and somehow, he managed to avoid pissing her off too badly. But, now that she thought about it... he wasn't really her type.

So what _was_ her type?

And why the hell was she thinking about _this_ instead of the trip to find _Rukia?_ That was what was important!

"Ugh! This is impossible!" said Tatsuki, digging her left hand into her hair.

"What is?"

Tatsuki blinked – and then shifted in her seat, looking over her shoulder. Orihime was standing in the doorway to the hall, wearing a bright magenta shirt and tight grey jogging pants with a red stripe down the side. A white bath towel sat atop her head like a hood, framing her face with its fringed edge. She gave the sides of her head a light scrub, soaking up the moisture in her hair; then, she trotted over to Tatsuki, staring at her dumbstruck expression with curiosity.

"Oh, uh..." Tatsuki's eyes flew to the television. "Finding something good on."

Orihime peered at the screen, reading the words in the corner – below a roaring helicopter– aloud. "Jam-Packed Action Weekend." She smiled. "That seems interesting."

"Not really," said Tatsuki, as Orihime walked through the nearby kitchen door. When she re-emerged with a cup of tea, Tatsuki continued. "It's just some B-flick marathon, the cheesy ones that they can't show alone."

"But those are fun," said Orihime, sitting down on the _zabuton_ next to Tatsuki. She set her cup upon the table – and without warning, she swept the towel off her head, letting it fall to her shoulders as she thrust her finger at the television. "Too bad – You!" She paused, deadpan. "Will die..."

A grin shot onto Tatsuki's face. They had picked up an American martial arts movie last month – one of her own selections. The thought was, 'How bad could a movie with a dragon on the case be?'

(Oh, it was an _instant classic._ )

"Yeah, but these aren't bad enough to be funny." Tatsuki's eyes left Orihime's smile, moving back to the TV. The scene had switched: an overweight detective was sprinting up the block, his bald head gleaming as he rolled over the hood of a car. "I mean, look at this guy. Someone probably stole his cheesecake."

A few seconds passed. Silence.

Tatsuki glanced back to Orihime – and her grin made a triumphant return. Orihime's cup of tea was back in her hands, and her lips were curled inward, trembling, desperately trying to hold down a laugh bubbling inside dimpled cheeks. She looked as if she was about to pull a 'Rukia'.

A crashing sound effect caught Tatsuki's attention, and her eyes landed back on the TV screen. Wow: she was wrong. Now Roly-Poly was chasing some crook through _a donut shop._

"Oh, he decided to go for takeout."

Orihime was lucky that she had swallowed a moment before – because she burst out laughing, nearly spilling the cup that was still in her hands. "Tatsuki! Stop!"

P.I. Porky burst through the shop's back door, into the back alley, and whipped around dramatically. A delivery van was speeding straight for him! He jumped to the side, flying through the air in slow motion – and Tatsuki's lips made a 'chih-chu-cha' sound in mid-flight, turning him into The Six Million Dollar Detective!

Orihime was _hanging onto_ Tatsuki's shoulder now, practically in tears. Somehow, her shaking hands had managed to set her tea down without toppling both cups over. Through a round of her giggles came, "I think I can, I think I can!"

She timed it perfectly: it was right in-sync with the man's jiggles as he wobbled after the van. And now Tatsuki could barely speak: she was in stitches, shoulder against Orihime, tearing up too.

After a minute or two, they got hold of themselves, and were wiping their eyes.

Then they looked at each other, silent – and cracked up again.

After _another_ minute...

"Can't..." said Orihime, amid the ghosts of scattered giggles. She was sprawled out upon the carpet, one knee in the air, clutching her sides like one of her impromptu desserts had finally gotten the better of her. "Can't breathe..."

Tatsuki looked over at her and chuckled. "Don't pass out. Sensei never got around to teaching us CPR."

A curious glance upwards. "CPR?"

Tatsuki nearly choked on the sip of tea she had taken. She swallowed it with a gulp – then bit her tongue.

 _Damn it._ _Wh_ _y_ _did_ _I..._ _Ugh, never mind!_ _Think._ _How_ _to_ _explain this?_ _Chest compress_ _io_ _– No._ _That'_ _ll just_ _... Don't look there!_ _I know it's hard, because_ _they're so... Oh,_ _fuck_ _off_ _, Chizuru!_ _Um... uh..._

"Uh, yeah," she began. "You know. What you do if someone's drowning." The blank stare aimed her way didn't let up. "Um... lifeguards? At the beach?"

"Oh, mouth to mouth. Like in that shark movie!" Orihime sprang up into a sitting position, cupping her hands around her mouth. "GET OUT OF THE WATER!"

 _Is she yelling at_ _her_ _teapot?_ "I... think that was another one," said Tatsuki, turning her attention away from the kitchen. Her eyes met Orihime's – and quickly veered away. "But yeah. Mouth to mouth."

There was a long, pronounced silence.

Tatsuki's cup hit the coaster with a deafening _clack_. She stared at the living room wall, boring a hole into the plaster with her irises. Her knuckles turned against her, tapped against her knee: rhythmically, nervously. Gunshots echoed from a firefight on the television screen.

"I wouldn't mind that, actually."

Her head snapped towards Orihime as the thermostat in the girl's apartment jumped to fifty-three degrees C. "What?"

Orihime blinked in surprise. Then, in a bout of Hime-Charades, she waved her hands defensively, let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh, and rapped her knuckles against the side of her head.

Tatsuki stared at her, face on fire.

Maybe she had misheard that. Misinterpreted the words. Maybe Orihime wanted to be a lifeguard. Or fight a shark. Or be a shark and fight a lifeguard. Or–

"O-oh, the stove!"

 _Have one for dinner?_

Tatsuki watched in bewilderment as – with _The Force of a Thousand Suns_ – Orihime rocketed to her feet and zoomed into the kitchen, fiery locks trailing in her wake. She turned to the girl's outline, blinking at empty space – then scratched the back of her neck, laughing softly.

Of course. Just your standard everyday Submarine Daydream. That was Orihime for you. No sense in bursting her bubble.

But then...

Huh. That was weird. What was this feeling? Something like... disappointment?

Wait. Hold on a sec. Did she _want_ Orihime to flirt with her? Had she actually... enjoyed it?

Psh. What? No way! Her, a lesbian? Not a chance in hell. And besides, even if she was – so what? That didn't mean Orihime was _attracted_ to her. What had happened at the festival… was just an awkward coincidence. One harmless little misstep: a hug gone wrong. It didn't _mean_ anything. Neither did that comment. And here she was, sweating bullets over nothing. Please. It was all in her head.

... And, oddly enough, that only made her feel more depressed.

Tatsuki let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes.

"Eh heh-heh. See, I _knew_ I forgot to turn the gas off. Don't wanna burn down my own apartment! That would be ba– _A_ _hhh!_ "

So, when Orihime strolled into the room and stumbled on her _zabuton,_ Tatsuki didn't see her go down. She only heard the thump of the landing, and her head whipped around to find her flat on her back.

"O-Orihime!" she cried, quickly crawling over to her – and she snorted.

Orihime was still laughing, her eyelids squeezed shut, her wrist covering streaming tears. When she opened her watery eyes, she found Tatsuki holding a hand out to her with a smile. Without a thought, she took it, and pulled herself up into a sitting position.

And after she had, Tatsuki came to a stop: hovering in front of her, kneeling at a standstill, lips apart.

It only came into perspective once Orihime was up off the floor.

The distance between them. How close they really were.

Orihime stared at her, looking surprised, maybe even a bit confused. But, as the seconds passed, those feelings did as well. Tatsuki's hand was lingering upon her own. Brown eyes were still gazing into hers. They were unsure, searching, peering into somewhere deep, hunting for an answer.

A warm smile wandered onto Orihime's face. She leaned forward slightly, touching her forehead to Tatsuki's. Gray eyes fluttered shut.

And she kissed her.

Tatsuki's eyes went wide – for a moment, at least.

But when Orihime's lips started to retreat, she already knew.

She'd chase Orihime to Hell and back – and the same applied to those lips. She couldn't get away with that. That kiss had only been a peck.

A sly smile crept onto Tatsuki's face. Orihime blinked.

And with a muffled squeak, she was back on the floor.

* * *

Underneath his shop at the edge of town, Kisuke Urahara stood amidst his massive training ground, staring into the shadowy ripples of the altered Senkaimon before him.

The gate had been remarkably easy to create. One only had to understand the principles of cross-dimensional travel, the effects of space-time deceleration caused by the Dangai, and the methods used to establish a suppressed connection between the human world and the Soul Society – which, of course, were necessary to avoid alerting the Seireitei to the gate's existence through obvious wavelengths of dimensional distortion.

Child's play, really.

"The real trouble lies with those kids. That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Kisuke?"

Urahara glanced up from under the rim of his hat, looking past stripes of green and white, following the distinctively male voice. It emanated from the top edge of the spirit exchangers that surrounded the gate. Atop the girder of bony material, a black cat stood on all fours, staring down at him through the corner of its yellow eyes.

"Ah, Yoruichi! What a surprise! I wasn't expecting company," Urahara declared happily, raising his hand up in a 'how-dee-do' manner.

Cat eyes rolled. "Cut the act. I'm not going to be led astray by some idle chatter." Yoruichi strolled down towards the center of the support, then took a sudden leap down, landing gracefully upon Urahara's shoulder. She skipped across the top of his back, coming to rest upon the opposite shoulder, this time facing the gate. "So why are you avoiding the question?"

A sly smile formed under the brim of Urahara's hat. "You know, that was a terrible pun..."

A growl reverberated through his left ear.

" _But,_ I suppose I can let it slide." Urahara produced a fan from his sleeve, snapping it open over his widening grin. "So how did the students turn out? Missing any limbs?"

Yoruichi's claws dug into the fabric of his jacket, pressing against skin. "I don't appreciate insinuations that I can't handle my job as a trainer." Cat lips turned, almost hissing into his ear: "Do I need to put you through another lesson?"

Urahara looked up, staring at his hat's brim, thoughtful. "... Well, I don't see how that's appropriate. I'm not the one going off to war."

Yoruichi's tail whacked the back of his head, lightly, maybe even playfully. The meaning was understood.

A brief smile found Urahara, fading quickly. "So do you think that they're ready?"

Yoruichi gazed into the gate, musing. "The Yasutora boy has shown remarkable progress, though he's far from the level where I'd be comfortable pitting him up against a lieutenant." Golden eyes narrowed slightly. "The girl, though... She's a bit of a problem."

Urahara raised an eyebrow. "Oh? In what way?"

"As it stands, her defensive and healing capabilities are extremely valuable," said Yoruichi, "but she seems to be a bit of a pacifist. She's unwilling to use her offensive powers to their full potential." Yoruichi paused, features darkening. "Should that one somehow be separated from the group, there's a strong possibility that she will be killed."

"You know that applies to every one of them."

Yoruichi's eyes drifted shut. "Yes, I do. Still, I don't like the idea of sending someone who can't even defend herself."

Urahara paused, and the sly smile returned. "Well, that won't change our contact plans. That house doesn't have a window that meets the trajectory." He glanced over at Yoruichi. "You know her abilities best. It's your decision."

"Hardly. We don't have much of a choice." Yoruichi leapt from his shoulder, landing off to the side. "Every warm body, and hopefully it stays that way."

"And the hunch?"

A pause. "We took precautionary measures. There's nothing more that we can do." Yoruichi gazed up at him, looking serious. "He would know better than us, Kisuke."

For a moment, Urahara looked off in thought, furrowing his brow.

Then, he sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Well, that's rare," said Yoruichi, seeming to smirk. "That has a nice ring to it. You might want to say it more often."

A grin shot onto the face behind the raised fan. "Like during that week when you thought you had whiskers...?"

Another growl emanated from near Urahara's feet. Glancing down, he found Yoruichi's fur standing on end; a golden-eyed death glare met his dopey gaze.

"What was that...?" came Yoruichi's voice – sounding as if it belonged to a bobcat.

"Oh, nothing." Urahara's fan snapped shut, revealing a serious countenance. "Shall we get started?"

Yoruichi's eyes shifted to the side. "I'll round up the Quincy and the girl. The rest are yours." With a swish of the tail, the cat turned, bounding towards the skyscraper of a ladder that sat against the distant wall. It stopped for only a moment, glancing back. "Try not to kill anyone with that contraption."

Urahara put on a clever smile. "Which one?"

Cat eyes rolled yet again. Yoruichi turned, dashing to the ladder, ascending its rungs with graceful flying leaps. In only a few moments, the cat had disappeared through the hole in the painted sky.

Urahara looked back to the Senkaimon, staring into the ripples, his gaze pensive. After half a minute, he smiled, and gave the ground a tap with the tip of his cane. The gate disassembled itself as he turned, its portal vanishing, the bony spirit enhancers retracting into square blocks.

Urahara began to whistle on his way to the shop's roof. It was a cheerful, airy tune. Appropriate, since he took soaring leaps twice along the route: one from the training ground to the top rung of the ladder, and one from the back alley onto his moonlit destination. Already standing upon the shingles was a young girl, shirt white and skirt pink, looking through the lenses of high-powered binoculars.

"Hello Ururu," said Urahara, tipping his bucket hat with a smile. "Are the preparations in order?"

Ururu lowered the binoculars, letting them hang from the strap around her neck, and looked his way. "Oh, hello sir," she said meekly, turning his way with a timid little bow. "Yes, everything is set."

"Good, good. Then shall we begin?"

Ururu nodded. She turned, walking up to a giant black case that had been delicately balanced upon the peak of the shop's roof. She knelt beside it, using dainty fingers to punch in a long combination upon its number keypad. The case opened with a clack, sending the cool mist of cryogenics drifting into the night air.

And Ururu pulled a military-grade, multi-round rocket launcher (complete with side-mounted digital targeting display) out from within.

Slightly modified to Urahara standards, of course.

Ururu checked the loaded cartridges, counting the laughing Urahara icons that dotted the ends of each blood container. Then, she rolled the ammo barrel back into the weapon, locking it into place.

Standing, she mounted the launcher upon her shoulder, staring through the glowing green digital reticle. "Orange One, Orange One," came her meek warning. "Launching."

The round fired with no more than a whoosh, but the container shot into the distance at a speed too fast for the eye to follow. As Urahara cooled his stubbly chin with his fan, Ururu lowered the weapon, and lifted the hanging binoculars with her free hand, peering through the lenses.

A tiny smile formed upon her face.

"The strawberry has landed."

* * *

 _This was a mistake._

The thought played over and over again in her mind, like a needle skipping against vinyl – like some old, shoddy record player that she had only seen in history textbooks.

 _It was a mistake to let this happen._

Was that true? Would the pain certain to come from this make it pointless? Had her actions truly done more harm than good?

Orihime didn't know.

She couldn't see the future. Her powers didn't extend that far. She could shield others from harm, and heal whatever wounds that they might have endured – but only physically. There was no way for her to mend a person's heart: to take away the sorrow and grief that she so often saw in others. There was nothing that she could do to avert the tragedies that might come their way. Even knowing of them – of the sadness hidden just beyond the horizon – was beyond her.

Maybe that was the reason she had ended up here, in this place that defied all logic and reason – and yet felt so right.

Orihime tilted her head upward, slightly, carefully. She stared at Tatsuki's closed eyes with wonder. Tatsuki looked so peaceful in her sleep, so content, so happy. And Orihime found herself wondering: had she always looked like this? Had that smile always been there, on every night, during every sleepover?

She wasn't sure. There had been so many, so many moments, so many good memories – and yet, not enough. She knew that now, lying here in her bed, in Tatsuki's arms, in the moonlight that seemed so familiar. Her eyes wandered over to the window, staring out through the glass masked by half-open blinds.

She couldn't see it from here. So many things were out of view.

And yet, for once, her dreams were on the inside. Only a touch away.

Her fingertips traced along the powder blue fabric of Tatsuki's shirt, only skimming against the soft material. She was careful not to disturb the skin beyond: tickling Tatsuki's side would rouse her from her dreams, and she'd open her eyes with a playful smile. Orihime knew this; she'd done it once before – only as a hint, not taken as anything but quirky.

Maybe that was the problem. She'd dropped too many hints, given too many clues, let her desires control her actions, let her heart rule over her head. That was why they had ended up here.

She could have stopped Tatsuki at any point. Their minute-long kiss on the living room floor. The little chase to the bedroom, filled with giggles. The stifled cry Tatsuki had made when Orihime had spun and embraced her in the doorway. The apologies Orihime had sputtered upon realizing her chest had slammed into Tatsuki's cast. The laughter that had followed, and the hour where they had lied awake, snuggling in bed, keeping each other warm, speaking in whispers about what was ahead.

 _Do I regret it?_

No. Of course not. None of those moments could ever make her feel regret.

And yet she did, in one way. It came from the questions about the trip, about Ichigo, about Rukia. It came from her vague answers, her false ignorance, the half-lies that she had no choice but to tell. It had been easier when they were walking to her apartment together – but lying to Tatsuki here, next to her, with her head nestled against her protector's shoulder...

It was agonizing.

And impossible.

Tatsuki knew that she was still hiding behind a wall of secrecy. Tatsuki knew that she had never told her the whole truth. Tatsuki knew that, even now, she was desperately trying to keep her distance.

And Tatsuki didn't care. She still smiled; she still nodded; she still held Orihime as close and as tight and as attentively as her good arm would allow.

Orihime, who was still selfish, even after all this time – and Tatsuki, who had always been anything but.

Orihime felt like crying – but she willed the tears away from her eyes. She couldn't afford to wake Tatsuki. Doing that would only make this night more painful. She had already done enough damage; slipping up again would be too much to bear.

Slowly, with the utmost caution and care, she slipped out from under Tatsuki's arm, sliding down and over to the bed's edge, barely making a sound. As she sat up, her long orange locks brushed against Tatsuki's bare arm, making the girl shift slightly in her sleep. Orihime looked back, eyes filled with fear, silently praying that she wouldn't hear her name in a drowsy mumble.

Several seconds ticked by. No sounds at all.

As carefully as she could, Orihime lifted herself onto the floor – and winced at the squeak of the mattress as her socks touched carpet. Holding her breath, she turned around, expecting to see open eyes. But the sight of Tatsuki's eyelids let her exhale: she hadn't set off any alarms.

As luck would have it, Tatsuki was a heavy sleeper. Orihime had almost forgotten that. It took a racket (or a lot of playful tickling) to save her from the sandman. She could probably sleep through just about anything.

Orihime stared down at her: at the black locks that shone in the moonlight, at the slightly faded smile still upon her face, at the white cast resting upon her abdomen.

Before she could stop them, the words were already past her lips.

"Sōten Kisshun," she whispered, "I reject."

Her cyan hairpins glowed with a bright orange light. In a flash, they split apart, separating into six floating entities – three on each side of her, twelve wings in total. Without a word, her healers – Ayame and Shun'ō – flew to Tatsuki's left arm, creating an oval barrier of orange light that stretched along the length of her cast.

Normally, her faeries were talkative, energetic, and noisy. They would start up a conversation almost instantly. It was only natural, since they were a reflection of her own personality.

This time, there was only silence.

Orihime glanced back at Tsubaki. He was hovering at the far wall with his arms crossed, looking on solemnly – though, when he noticed her gaze, his eyes did move to the side in annoyance. She smiled, no more than a melancholy one – but even that was gone when she heard Tatsuki stir. Her eyes flew back to her best friend's face, trembling.

 _Please don't wake up._

Tatsuki's brow shifted, creasing slightly with worry. But, a moment later, the healing barrier vanished, and both of their faces relaxed in relief. Ayame flew up next to Orihime's ear, placing a tiny hand between her mouth and Tatsuki.

"It's done," came her whisper.

Orihime nodded, and closed her eyes. With six streams of orange light, her fairies shot back into their places above her ears, crystallizing into the petals of her hairpins.

She knew that the healing had been flawless. Tatsuki's arm was in perfect condition. The damaged muscles and the fractured bones were things of memory. It was almost as if they had never existed at all.

And yet, it meant little. She was about to break something far more important.

Only the physical. Never anything more.

 _Someday._

Orihime opened her eyes, staring out at the moon hidden between the window blinds.

 _Someday... That will change._

Her eyes drifted down to Tatsuki, shimmering in the white light.

"Someday... I'll see you again."

Orihime stood in that spot for around a minute, staring down at Tatsuki, staring at the confusion and anxiety on the face that had been so happy moments ago.

Then, she turned away. Her feet padded silently across the apartment. She found her shoes near the entrance. Her hand found the doorknob. The tears found her cheeks.

And she vanished into the night.

* * *

Tatsuki's dreams were a little weirder than usual.

They started out in a Vale Tudo ring, as they often did. Her opponent was less than normal: a bear in a hockey mask, who apparently knew Muay Thai. Then the referee started giving her trouble for low blows, and she called him out for it – because a talking cat was _always_ going to side with the fighter most likely to eat him for a bad call. After that, there were explosions (this was normal); the falling ceiling beams were caught by hulking bodybuilders (not normal); winged midgets – scratch that, Rukias – flew towards the blue sky like doves (more weird than anything); and flying chariots pulled by slave Ichigos glided through the stadium, chased by goggle-wearing archers who shot neon arrows at their butts and demanded that they pick up the pace (damn funny).

Apparently, this was what happened when you slept next to Orihime. Her mind sent out some psychic wave that got into you too.

Stranger than all of that, though, was where her dreams went next. One by one, each and every act of her mental circus vanished: she would simply turn around, look, and they would be gone. Eventually, everybody was missing, even the fans in the stadium seats. Then she looked up, gazed through the hole in the roof, and saw that it was night. As she did, the floodlights that filled the stadium shut off in stages: one set every few seconds, each going dark with the sound of shutting doors. When they were all dark, there was nothing left but a shaft of moonlight. Tatsuki looked around, and saw that there was nothing left. Only darkness. She was alone.

And that was it.

Her eyes slid open, blinking hazily at the familiar ceiling that wasn't her own. She lifted her head slightly; but then, she let it drop back down onto the pillow, closing her eyes.

That's right: she was at Orihime's place.

 _Sleeping over,_ she thought groggily. _Sleeping with her._

A moment passed – and then Tatsuki sprang up in bed, her eyes wide, her cheeks scarlet. She looked down and around herself, scanning over the sheets wildly, scrambling over her tangled thoughts.

Had Orihime still been under the covers, she would have been sent rolling onto the floor, and would most likely be blinking up at her, dumbfounded. But Tatsuki found no-one. The warm embrace that had lulled her to sleep was missing. Orihime was gone.

So where was she?

 _In the bathroom?_

Tatsuki looked to the open bedroom door, expecting to see a faint glow from the room just across the hall. The corridor was black, though. No lights were on.

"Orihime?" she called. She waited for the startled yelp and the clang of a skillet. But again, nothing.

And now, she realized something strange. That 'being watched' feeling was telling her that Orihime was across town.

Tatsuki gave her head a shake, convinced that she was just disoriented – but the feeling stuck.

It was the middle of the night. She was in Orihime's apartment. Orihime was across town.

A look of horror swept onto her face.

 _She's leaving tonight!_

Tatsuki flung herself out of bed and scrambled across the room, nearly tripping on the sheets that had wrapped around her feet. She kicked them off and tore into the hallway, racing towards the apartment's entrance. Her pounding feet reached the door. Her hand flew to the knob.

And her cast slammed into brass.

She winced in anticipation, waiting for the pain.

But none came. Not a bolt; not a burning; not even a twinge. It made absolutely no sense: her right arm felt normal, like it was in perfect shape. Adrenaline?

 _Who the hell cares? There's no time!_

She stooped down and snatched up her shoes, stuffed her feet into them, swung open the door, and slammed it behind her without a glance. Raindrops pattered against her hair as she flew across the outdoor walkway and down the metal stairs leading to the street. Her soles moved like lightning across the pavement. Her whole body felt like it was on fire.

This was a stupid plan. She knew it. She knew that fighting those Hollow things – or whatever else Ichigo was going up against – was beyond her. She knew that martial arts couldn't compare, much less with one working arm. She knew that she had next to nothing to offer.

But it didn't matter. Ichigo was going. Orihime was going. She wasn't going to be the only one left behind. She could do _something._ She'd find a way. She'd grab a gun from Rocket Launcher Girl, if that's what it took. They'd have to break her legs to stop her!

She turned the corner, bolting down the path next to the river, heading in Orihime's direction. Damn it: she was still so far away! It was going to take at least ten minutes to get down there, even at a full sprint! She lowered her chin, dashing against the blowing rain, screaming inside her mind, at her legs, to go faster.

But then, something flashed through the corner of her eye.

Something orange.

She skidded to a stop, whipping her head towards the color. It was down at the edge of the riverbank, just under a bridge that crossed over the water. It was only a patch: short, bright, unmistakable. It was hair atop a head.

 _Ichigo?_

That was him. What was he doing there? Just standing under a bridge, looking at the river?

Never mind that. If he was _there_ , then Orihime wasn't going anywhere. Not yet, at least.

Tatsuki turned, running past the edge of the path, taking rapid steps down the slick grass of the incline. "Ichigo!" she called, as her tennis shoes splashed through a puddle at the slope's base. He didn't turn around. She took a few more steps towards him, peering at the back of his head, about to call his name again.

Suddenly, her instincts screamed at her to jump back. She did.

That small dodge saved her life.

A hideous crimson claw flashed past her view, slicing through the air where she had just stood. It was as large as her body, with crooked fingers and pointed nails that gleamed in the rain. It was something straight out of a nightmare – and it had come out of nowhere.

Tatsuki stepped back, staring at it, eyes wide – and her sense snapped back into her. She dodged to the side, rolling under the canopy of the bridge, narrowly evading a second claw as it smashed down into the ground. She found her feet in an instant, crouching, ready to dodge again. Her eyes darted from one claw to the other, over the thin limbs that stretched like garden hoses from the river – and then over to Ichigo.

He hadn't even flinched. It was like he was in a trance.

"What the hell are you doing?" screamed Tatsuki, jumping to her feet. "Get..."

She stopped short of running to him. Running to _it._

That _thing_ wasn't Ichigo.

The imposter's eyes moved over to her, giving her a sidelong look from under rain-drenched hair. He stared, unblinking – and a twisted grin shot onto his face.

"Aw. You figured it out, didn't cha?"

Tatsuki watched in alarm as 'Ichigo' levitated into the air. He writhed like a broken puppet – and then catapulted headfirst into the river, dragged in by what seemed like an invisible noose. Tatsuki spun on her heels, sprinting away from the claws as they zipped in after him. She looked over her shoulder, then ahead – and stopped cold as a huge shadow descended from the far overhang of the bridge. The thing landed with a boom, shaking the ground, forcing her to take a shaky step backward.

Red eyes. That was all she saw at first, as the thing advanced through the curtain of water. Thin, glowing daggers: red against black. Then there was a monstrous face: white, freakish, with a row of eight nostrils and the giant grin of a demented clown. Its body was a massive ball of fur, soaked to a dark brown by the river water. And its hands – its hands were those claws, creeping forward, step by step, fingers piercing the moist soil.

"But it doesn't matter..." came the monster's voice – a deep, malevolent growl. Its chuckle made the air around Tatsuki quiver. "I feel like having a little fun."

Tatsuki stepped back, gritting her teeth. _A Hollow. Damn it, why now?_

Its wall of teeth – its grin – became even larger. "So tell me..."

From behind its body, the Ichigo clone strolled out casually, walking to the front line with a sinister smile. It came to a stop beside the Hollow, cocking its head at Tatsuki. "How did you know it wasn't me?"

Ichigo's voice was gone. It was the same growl now: the same voice as the Hollow, the same as Grand Fisher.

"What are you, stupid?" said Tatsuki. Fisher grunted in surprise, and Tatsuki narrowed her eyes. "That thing feels like murder, and _Ichigo_ never would." She grinned through her fear. "Besides, I'd smell a sewer rat like you from a mile away."

Fisher let out another chuckle – and suddenly, its claw clamped down around 'Ichigo's' head, ready to crush its skull. A spark of fear flashed through Tatsuki's eyes.

"So..." it said slyly. "I have the right one."

It dawned on her, then. This thing didn't just know about Ichigo. It knew about _her._

"How the hell..."

"Do I know your little friend?" said Fisher, finishing for her. Hatred seeped into its voice. "Oh, he and I have a _history,_ you could say. The bastard went and interrupted one of my meals – a nice and tasty one, just ripe for the picking. And then he had the gall to stab me in the neck, but he couldn't finish the job and _ran away._ So, I decided..."

The crimson claw squeezed shut like a vice, cracking the clone's neck with a sickening snap.

"That as payback, I'd slaughter every last human in his _life!_ "

Tatsuki jumped back, heart racing, eyes darting around for an escape route. Up the grass, into a door, through a building – there had to be some way out of this. She had to ditch this thing and get to Orihime. If she could outrun it, then...

But to where, was the question – because she couldn't feel her.

Tatsuki's senses hadn't given in to panic. She had felt Orihime's presence just a moment ago. Orihime had been right across town – but now, she was gone.

She was gone.

"Oh? Do you think I'm going to let you _get away?_ "

Tatsuki's eyes flew back to the Hollow, and her body tensed. It had reared itself back onto its hind legs, and was staring at her like an evening appetizer. Her right arm slipped itself out of its sling, subconsciously, almost involuntarily. Her blood pumped through her veins in violent pulses.

It didn't attack. It didn't move. It did nothing but stare.

"Well?" it said, sneering at her. "Go ahead. Run. Make it interesting! I want to see the terror on your face, that look when you know it's hopeless – just like that brat's mother when I cut her down!"

Tatsuki's eyes shot wide with shock.

"You... You're the one that killed her...?"

 _By the river._

"Oh, you didn't know that? That must be his _deep – dark – secret,_ " said Fisher, spitting out each word with more derision than the last. One claw shot to the head of the crumpled Ichigo puppet, dragging its squirming body into the air. "Yes, I remember clearly now, thanks to that bastard..."

Tatsuki watched its nails dig into the flesh of the puppet's head, peeling its skin down in a stomach-turning display. There was some kind of pink bulb underneath; she didn't know. She could barely look.

"Just like this. I tore her soul apart, just like this – and all she could do was scream, 'Don't hurt my boy! Please! Don't hurt him!'" Its teeth curled upward, even more wicked than before. "Between the screams of agony, that is."

 _All those days by the river._

"And I'm going to do the same to his family, to his friends, to every single person he knows!"

A worm-like appendage wriggled out from the puppet's split head, then shot into a hole at the top of Fisher's mask. The 'Ichigo' that was left crumpled in a wrinkled mess – only a dried husk of skin and clothes on the ground.

"I'm going to leave their skins all over this town, so he has to look at their screaming faces! I'm going to make sure he suffers! _I'll make him wish he were dead!_ "

 _He was always..._

Tatsuki was shaking.

Fisher smirked at her, at the tremors of her body, at her dipped head. It dropped back down onto all fours, its lure swinging from side to side. "Go on. Run! Let's see how far you can get with those legs that can barely stand!"

"... You..."

Fisher lifted its head, letting out a confused grunt.

Tatsuki's voice was a low murmur. It was dark. It was quiet.

But not for long.

She burst forward, face in a grimace, teeth bared, eyes blazing, roaring at the top of her lungs.

" _I'LL KILL YOU!_ "

Her left fist slammed into Fisher's mask – into the bone below its right eye – with every ounce of force that she had.

It was like hitting a concrete wall. Her knuckles cracked on impact.

But Fisher didn't even flinch.

Tatsuki stood aghast, staring into glowing red as Fisher's grin curled upwards.

"You're even dumber than you look."

A sudden pain tore through her shoulder, her chest, her stomach. The world shook. Her knees buckled, and gravity left her. She was weightless, floating, ethereal.

Slowly, her eyes drifted down.

Crimson fingers were sticking out of her body. Blurry red fingers. They were getting blurrier and redder, and her shirt was too, and the ground, and her shoes...

 _... Damn it... Can't wash shoes..._

Heavy-lidded eyes climbed upwards. A bleary white oval covered her view.

A distant laugh. A growing gap in the oval.

White.

A feeling of falling, but not falling.

White.

 _Can't breathe._

White.

Thunder through her body.

White.

A snicker.

White.

 _... Ori... hime..._

Black.


	8. Chapter 8

_Rain fell upon the darkened streets of Karakura Town._

 _It pattered down upon lonely rooftops. It danced beneath the halos of streetlights. It cascaded over ledges, onto riverbanks, across patches of grass and sand and stone._

 _It mingled with blood._

 _A stream of muddy crimson wound its way past a pair of bloodstained tennis shoes. Past the mangled remains of a severed claw. It meandered and weaved, flowing with the silence of the night. Winding, winding, away from a hulking mass of fur and bone._

 _Grand Fisher grunted in pain. It lifted its head, glaring daggers into the fog that had enveloped the bridge's underside._

 _And then, from within: a shadow of black and white._

" _Wretched Soul Reaper!" bellowed Fisher, jettisoning its claw into the mist. "DIE!"_

 _The elongated limb tore through the fog – and jolted to a stop. Fisher's eyes went wide. Blood burst forth from the joint that had once connected arm and claw._

 _A howl of pain rippled from Fisher's throat_ _– only to be eclipsed by a deafening roar. The fog dispersed, swirling, swept away by sheer force. Deep shadows converged, coalescing into one._

 _In that darkness stood a thing far beyond Fisher's comprehension._

 _The creature gazed down at the Hollow with contempt. It clenched its fist, snapping the bones of the broken claw that hung from its grip. Then, effortlessly, it flung the appendage out across the river, skipping it over the water's surface like a stray pebble. A cloud of dirt exploded as the hand crashed into the far bank._

 _Steam rose from the corners of the creature's mouth. Fisher shuddered, struggled, gazed up at it in fear._

" _Damn it! What..."_

 _The creature raised its palm._

 _In the blink of an eye, the waters of Karasu River evaporated._

 _A deep orange glow engulfed the world, devoured the darkness. The underside of the bridge smoked, smoldered, crumbled to dust. Raindrops turned to vapor, boiled in midair. Wet blades of grass sparked like matches, erupting into flames._

" _Y-you..."_

 _The scream of a jet engine, riving the air. Blazing eyes narrowed. Jagged teeth grinned._

" _WHAT ARE YOU?!"_

* * *

 **8\. The Dragon and the Snake**

Tatsuki Arisawa opened her eyes to the inside of her dojo.

She blinked, then looked around in confusion. She was kneeling in the middle of the soft, cream-colored mats that lined the floor. On her left, daylight passed through a row of small square windows, casting a chestnut hue onto a group of wooden _makiwaras_. In front of her, a large mahogany _torii_ stood against the wall, forming a gate over a hanging scroll that read: 'Discipline is strength'. On her right was the entrance, blocked by a sliding steel gate; a shoe rack, which was noticeably empty; and a wall of photos, mostly of older men. The largest one – a large oval portrait of the dojo's founder – drew her eyes.

 _White oval._ Her first thought made as much sense as her current situation – which was very little. Where the hell was everybody? Why was she alone? She wasn't the type to daydream in the middle of meditation. What had she been thinking about?

She didn't remember. In fact, she couldn't remember much at all.

She rose to her feet, then lifted her arms above her head, stretching her stiff muscles. Her whole body was taut; it felt like she had been sitting in that position for ages. Once again, she glanced around, giving the barren room a puzzled look.

"Hello?"

Several seconds passed. Her call went unanswered.

With a furrowed brow, she walked across the room, stopping at the door that led to the girls' changing room. Her hand reached for the knob – but then, she paused.

 _I might walk in on somebody._

A smile crept onto her face, and she rolled her eyes. That was a random thought, not to mention a bit odd. Still, she raised her hand to the wood, giving the door a rap of her knuckles in warning.

"Hey, anybody in there?" she called.

No response. She grasped the knob, opened the door, and strolled inside. After a quick turn of the hallway, the room came into view. There were gray metal lockers against two walls, wooden dressing benches just in front of them, and bright ceiling lights to compensate for the lack of a window. But, despite the lights being on, the room was unoccupied. No-one was here, either.

Tatsuki raised her eyebrows, but then shrugged. _Might as well change if nobody's here._

She walked over to her locker, reaching down to her belt.

Her fingers touched leather.

She stopped in mid-stride. Her foot descended to the floor, lightly tapping the wood with a rubber sole. Confused eyes drifted downwards.

A powder blue T-shirt. Black jeans. A leather belt. Tennis shoes.

She had been meditating – and apparently, oblivious, too. Why was she wearing her street clothes, rather than her karate gi? That didn't make any sense. It was a completely brainless thing to do. She hadn't even taken off her shoes–

 _Shit! Sensei'll kill me if he sees that!_

Tatsuki spun on her heels, her soles squeaking as she raced back to the door. Carefully, she pushed it ajar, peering out into the dojo from the narrow crack.

Still empty. She slipped out onto the floor, darted over to the entrance foyer, and breathed a sigh of relief when her shoes dropped down onto tile. Then, she turned, looking back at the empty room.

Again, her brow furrowed.

She couldn't explain it, but something about all of this was just... off.

This dojo looked exactly like Furin Hall – it _was_ Furin Hall – but, for some reason, it didn't feel like it. There had always been an atmosphere to Furin, a life to the place, a kind of reverent air – but here, that was missing. And that was just the beginning: for one, where was everyone? There were always at least two or three other students out on the floor, training along with her sensei. It was never this quiet.

It was that – the eerie silence – that unsettled her the most. There was no sound: only the quiet whispers of her own breath. It was like time had stopped.

And speaking of time: when had she come here? What had she been doing before? What day was it?

 _I... don't know._

Tatsuki raised a hand to her forehead, massaging the lines of stress with the tips of her fingers. Something had taken its toll: she was really out of it today. Better to just head home and rest.

Dropping her arm, she walked over to the security gate – a grille of steel framework – that blocked the entrance. She grasped the metal handle, sliding it over to the side. As she stepped outside, her eyes left the ground, drifting up to the eaves above the entrance.

A glass wind chime dangled overhead. It was painted with the design of leaves blowing upon wind gusts, and a small tag printed with Furin Hall's motto hung from the glass bell. And yet, there was no wind: the chime was silent, perfectly still.

Ironic, since _furin_ meant 'wind bell'.

Tatsuki stepped forward, looking down to the street ahead of her.

Her feet came to a dead stop.

"What..."

A moment ago, she had thought that Furin Hall seemed odd. There had been something about it that just didn't fit. Something was out of place. Something was wrong.

But, as it turned out, _she_ was wrong – because Furin Hall was the only place that was _normal._

Inverted houses. Horizontal trees. A floating vending machine. Concrete security walls that formed ramps up onto roofs that were actually floors. Leaning office buildings. Vertical clouds.

It was Karakura Town – after it had been hit by a tornado, sucked into a time rift, and reconstructed by M. C. Esher.

Jaw still ajar, Tatsuki turned her head, looking down the street that gradually twisted into a gravity-defying spiral. Vertigo hit her like a brick, and she stumbled backwards, gripping her forehead.

 _Not real... Just some weird dream..._

But that was a lie. None of her dreams felt like this. There was no haziness, no sense of fantasy, no chance that her surroundings would change with her thoughts. Everything here was sharp, clear, and distinct. It looked like an abstract painting, but it felt like the real world.

Besides, if this was a dream, shouldn't she be awake by now?

Tatsuki's eyes moved away from the conch-shell road, drifting up to homes that hovered amid the air. The buildings had been spun from their natural alignment: they were like dice in the middle of a roll, frozen in a single grain of time. Rooted trees and concrete slabs formed haphazard paths from one to the other, and at the peak of the highest one–

Orange.

Tatsuki blinked in surprise, and the color was gone. But then, it was back: a black-cloaked figure jumped from one floating house to another, then ran up a ramp that lead to the roof of a leaning office building.

"Ichigo?" she said in wonder.

That _was_ Ichigo. He had been dressed like that in the park. She remembered that.

But where was he going, and why was he all the way up there? And better yet, how the hell had he _gotten_ up there?

And now he was out of sight. "Ichigo!" she shouted – but a few seconds too late. He must not have heard her, because he didn't come back into view.

Damn it. She had to find a way up there and catch his attention. It seemed like he was the only other person around in this acid trip of a world.

Tatsuki looked around at ground level, searching for a route that led upwards. She jogged along the streets, steering clear of the paths that twisted like distorted reflections. She figured that there was a good chance they'd take her somewhere even weirder, and keeping her sense of up and down was important. She didn't want to fall fifty feet from a floating roof (which was actually a floor), rocket up towards the sky (which was actually the ground), and splat against an invisible wall (which probably still hurt like hell).

Oh look, an open door. Jackpot!

Tatsuki grinned as she waltzed into the entry hall of an unoccupied house. This one was still on the ground, right side up, and perfectly normal – aside from the concrete slab floating near one of its upper windows. That slab connected to a few others, forming a path up to one of the floating homes. And since _this_ house's door was open, Tatsuki figured that Ichigo had probably taken the same route.

After ten minutes of walking up floating paths, passing through thresholds, descending stairs, climbing down into attics, opening windows, and jumping onto hovering trees, she was seriously reconsidering that conclusion.

From atop the foundation of a small apartment complex, Tatsuki narrowed her eyes at the airborne urban jungle. Now she was sure that she was lost: the office building Ichigo had jumped to was even further away than before. She had tried to map the paths out ahead of time, tried to trace them with her eyes – but her route of choice had put another block between her and her destination.

And she had already backtracked twice! How many junctions had there been? The last house had two paths that led to dead ends, and the house before that had one that went off in the opposite direction, and the one before that had three, and those went...

Somewhere. She didn't remember. _Fuck!_

Tatsuki fell back onto her rear, squeezed her eyes shut, and held her head in frustration. She had a migraine from all of this crap. Just where in the hell _was_ she? What was this place? How had she gotten here? Why couldn't she remember? Where was everyone? What did she need to do to get _out?_

"Tatsuki..."

Tatsuki's eyes blinked open. She knew that voice. _Orihime?_

Looking over her shoulder, Tatsuki spotted Orihime standing a few meters behind her. A long white sundress covered her frame, light and silky, its hem drifting along in the slight breeze. The sun was just over her shoulder, bathing her skin in golden light – but her smile was even brighter. Her hair had stolen a halo, giving itself an outline of yellow against blue. Her eyes were filled with joy.

She was absolutely beautiful. Tatsuki had to catch her breath.

"Orihime..." She scrambled to her feet, turning to face her. "What's going on? Where are we?"

Gray eyes shimmered in happiness. "You really came..."

Tatsuki's heart fluttered. That look was the same one from the fireworks festival. It was the one from Orihime's apartment.

It was love.

"I... uh," she mumbled, glancing down at her feet. A smile found her face as her eyes drifted back up. "Yeah."

Orihime tilted her head, beaming. "I'm so hap–"

A sword burst through her abdomen, painting the white sundress with crimson. Her irises shrank to the size of atoms. Her knees buckled; she fell to them, head dipped down, staring at the blood-tainted metal tip protruding from her stomach. Terrified eyes climbed up to Tatsuki.

She was already there, holding Orihime's shoulders, screaming her name, watching in horror as the life faded from her eyes.

"No... Please..." Tatsuki was gasping, shaking, squeezing her arms like she could keep Orihime's life in her hands. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. "Don't leave... I love you... don't leave..."

 _'You can't save her.'_

Tatsuki's head whipped upwards. A white shadow was strolling away from them. White hair, white robes, white skin.

Red hands.

" _Get back here!_ " screamed Tatsuki, flinging herself from Orihime's body. She tore across concrete, lashing out at the stranger, grabbing his shoulder. With a violent twist, she spun him around, swinging a fist back, ready to kill.

And she froze.

Yellow irises looked at her in boredom. Spiky white locks shifted with a tilt of the head. A sigh escaped from ashen lips. Pale skin warded off the sun's rays.

Tatsuki was looking at a monotone version of herself.

Brown eyes stared in shock as a thin smile crossed the clone's teeth. It raised a bloody hand, holding the nail of its forefinger behind its thumb.

"You're too weak."

A finger flicked Tatsuki's forehead – and she rocketed backwards, tumbling over herself, scraping against concrete. The dizzying roll took her to the middle of the platform: she got her bearings, then shoved her soles into the ground, grinding to a halt. Her head whipped upwards; teary eyes found the clone, blazing in rage from underneath the edge of her palm.

The clone snickered. "This is pathetic. It's like fighting a fly." She lifted a hand to her brow, mocking Tatsuki by shielding her eyes from the sun. "Hey! You still alive over there?"

"Shut the fuck up!" shouted Tatsuki, springing to her feet. She poised herself to charge in again – but then, a realization stopped her.

 _This thing... It's like that fake Ichigo._

"Bastard! Get out here!" She looked around the platform in a frenzy. "I'll kill you for what..."

Tatsuki's voice faltered. Her fists trembled at her sides, and she choked back a sob.

"Aw, poor Tatsuki! Her little angel's dead, and there's just nothing she can do!" The clone spat to the side. "What a fuckin' joke. You're a pile of mush."

Tatsuki opened her mouth to scream out a string of profanities – but the clone thrust a finger in her direction, cutting her off.

"How about you look behind you, _and see what you're crying over!_ "

Tatsuki glanced over her shoulder – then spun around, stepping back, mouth ajar.

Grand Fisher's mask stared at her with empty eyes. Dozens of cracks covered its white surface, radiating out from a gaping hole that had replaced its nose. The hole was a black tunnel that cut straight through its body, leaving a circle of blue sky to greet Tatsuki's wide eyes. And out of that blue, Fisher's body collapsed, fading into dust that swirled up into nothingness.

"That was..." murmured Tatsuki, stunned.

"The piece of shit that tried to kill us." A wicked grin shot onto the clone's face. "I thought I'd make him look like your little Hime, just for fun." A shake of the head. "Too bad, though. He still screamed louder than you did."

Tatsuki turned, looking at the clone in bewilderment. Its hands were white now: free from blood. _That was... an illusion?_

Brown eyes narrowed. "Just what the hell are you?"

"Huh?" The clone cocked its head at her, then snickered. "What, did I hit you too hard? Your brain not working?"

Tatsuki clenched her fists. The clone raised an eyebrow, then sighed.

"Well, I don't have a name..." It lifted its forearm, staring down at its skin. Yellow irises lifted a grin up to Tatsuki. " _But,_ all things considered, why don't we go with Shiro?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Oh, now she's getting all pissy." Shiro leaned forward, holding her forefinger up, palm towards herself. "You must be stupid. Dark side of the moon, other side of the coin?" At Tatsuki's blink, she scowled. "Do I have to hold up a fuckin' mirror?"

Tatsuki furrowed her brow. "Part of... me?" At Shiro's nod, she scoffed. "Not a chance in Hell."

"Hey, I'm not happy about it either. You're not exactly a looker."

Tatsuki glared at her smirk. "So what is this? Some kind of near-death ex–"

The memory hit like a speeding truck. She doubled over, clutching her stomach and chest, eyes wide with terror. Her legs nearly gave out on her – but not from pain. There was none, nor was there any blood: as she lifted her hands from her shirt, she found that it was clean. She seemed to be perfectly fine.

"Got all your memories back, eh?" Shiro crossed her arms. "'Bout time. I don't wanna have to deal with an amnesiac."

Tatsuki lifted her eyes from the ground, gulping as she looked around at the surreal world. "Am... I dead?"

"Not yet, but you would be if I hadn't taken over." Shiro looked at her in contempt, scoffing. "Turns out you're a 'suicidal dumbass' too."

That phrase struck Tatsuki. It was from her own thoughts – the ones about Ichigo, on that day he had fought the Menos. And Shiro's _voice_ was the voice she had heard inside her head. She had to be telling the truth: there was no other way for her to know.

And then, _another_ two words struck Tatsuki. She looked over to Shiro in fear. "Not _yet?_ "

Shiro clapped her hands, giving a mock applause. "Congratulations, you win! You've only wasted twenty minutes of my fuckin' time!" She paused, then looked to the side, nodding. "Well, twenty in here. It's probably around five seconds on the outside."

Tatsuki was speechless. She could only stare as Shiro turned back to her with a smirk.

"Anyway, let's get down to business. I'm guessing you're not stupid enough to actually want to die?"

Tatsuki forced her lips to respond. "N-no, I'm not."

A thin smile crossed Shiro's teeth. "In that case..."

Shiro's hand delved inside the top half of her white robe, grabbing an object that was hidden near her heart. Pulling it into daylight, she held it out at arm's length, balancing it between her forefinger and thumb. It was circular and silver: it sparkled in the sun's rays.

Her medal from the Nationals. Her coin.

Shiro turned the medal, rotating it like a door to her eye. "Let me introduce you to our _edge._ "

She tossed the medal to the side, sending it sailing over the edge of the platform. Tatsuki watched as it vanished from view; then, she looked to Shiro, expecting an explanation. None was offered, though: Shiro simply stood with her arms crossed, eyes closed, smiling. A throb went through the vein at Tatsuki's temple, and a sharp remark formed upon her lips.

But a rumble cut her off.

The concrete beneath her feet was shaking. No, it wasn't just that: the entire _world_ was shaking. Leaves fell from the floating trees. Windows rattled. Tremors purled through the air. With each passing moment, the noise became louder and louder – until suddenly, the rumbling became a roar, and a fierce gale of wind nearly swept Tatsuki off her feet. Shielding her face with her forearm, she turned toward the massive shadow that had ascended over the platform.

Her eyes told her that it was a roller coaster, at first. It winded up and around the building, twisting in curves and hills, bending along a spine of smoky gray metal. But then, as she traced along its body, she realized that there was an ashen underside – and that the metal plates were actually scales. Her gaze flew up to the very end of its body. Brown irises shrunk.

The head of a dragon stared down at her, gazing with fiery orange eyes. Its face was like an armored promontory: pointed metal scales formed giant daggers, their tips extending back from its crown and each side of its head. Twin rows of curved vertebrae jutted from its back, beginning at the base of its neck, extending all the way down its winding body. The ridged skin beneath its scales was an obsidian black, though it was only visible in traces: mainly around its eyes and nostrils. There was also a bit around its short, thick jaw – which was opening like a living cavern.

And then there was another roar. The light of a raging furnace erupted from the dragon's mouth, and its obsidian claws crashed down upon the edge of the building's foundation, their impact knocking Tatsuki off her feet. She scrambled backwards on her hands and rear, terrified.

Shiro – still standing – simply looked up and laughed at the thing. "All bark, no bite. You still like making those _grand entrances,_ huh?"

The dragon narrowed its eyes at her – but, when her grin turned malicious, it looked away, snorting out a thick smoke from its nostrils.

Tatsuki's eyes left the dragon, darting down to Shiro in disbelief. _That huge thing's... afraid of her?_

"So, since we don't have all day..." said Shiro, tapping her foot. _Waraji_ – sandals made from straw rope – were upon her feet. "Why don't you give it to our little friend here?"

 _Fuck! She's trying to get me eaten!_

Tatsuki scrambled to her feet – but, before she could sprint for the floating tree bridge, the dragon's head floated down in front of her. Her heart froze, and her legs followed suit. She stared into the glowing orange eyes ahead of her, unable to move, unable to think, utterly petrified.

But then, not.

It was strange. Physically, nothing changed, but the dragon's fiery eyes suddenly didn't seem all that threatening. They were glaring, blazing, piercing into her – but there was no malice behind them. Maybe there never had been.

So why the hell was she running away?

Tatsuki found her breath. She exhaled, standing firm against the dragon's gaze, staring it straight in the eyes.

For a moment, it was still.

Then, it exhaled, enveloping Tatsuki in a cloud of smoke.

Tatsuki waved her arm in front of her face, coughing as the smoke dissipated. When the sky was visible again, she looked down at her clothes – which, along with her, were covered in soot. She shot a glare up at the dragon's head; it had ascended, and looked to be _smirking_ at her.

"Hey, what the hell?" yelled Tatsuki. "You owe me a dry-cleaning bill!"

Its jaw remained closed, but a rumble came from its throat. "Better."

Tatsuki's mouth dropped open – along with the dragon's. With a roar, an orange light flared in its throat, and it sent a torrent of flame down onto the concrete, forming a fiery pillar in front of Tatsuki. She stepped back, staring in awe as the flames spun and twisted, watching them converge and shrink to waist height. Then, suddenly, the blazing tornado whipped itself out, vanishing in a cloud of embers, leaving a small object in its wake.

Upon a silver stand sat a small sheathed sword – a _wakizashi,_ around half a meter long. Its hilt was wrapped in black silk, leaving a pattern of diamonds along the ashen handle. The sheath was also black, but lines of flowing orange formed a magma design across the lacquered wood. Its guard was a coiled dragon, cut from obsidian, detailed down to each tiny scale. It was a–

"Zanpaktou?" murmured Tatsuki, awestruck.

Shiro was clapping again. "Well, you're just a bank of knowledge. Stop gawking and pick the damn thing up already!"

Tatsuki glared over her shoulder, eyeing Shiro with suspicion. "I don't get it."

Shiro raised an irritated eyebrow. "Don't get _what?_ "

"You." Tatsuki turned to her. "If you're a part of me, then it's the part I hate – and I'd bet the feeling's mutual. So why bother to help me?"

"Fuck, you really _are_ stupid." Shiro pointed towards Tatsuki's narrowed eyes. "I'll give you the short version. If you die, I die, so I'm stuck babysitting your sorry ass. That's all you need to know."

A small tremor shook the world. Tatsuki glanced around, alarmed. The dragon's eyes were searching, too: this was something else.

Shiro scowled. "Damn. That's trouble." Her eyes darted to Tatsuki. "You gonna stand there all day?"

Tatsuki glowered, but then turned back to the Zanpaktou. She stepped forward, kneeling down next to the stand, and reached for the hilt.

"Oh, just one more thing..." came Shiro's voice, sly. Tatsuki glanced back, aggravated, and a thin smile crossed Shiro's teeth. "If you pick that up, you'll become a Soul Reaper. You do know that, _right?_ "

Tatsuki tensed. "And if I don't?"

"Then you can kiss the living world goodbye."

Tatsuki snorted as she turned back to the sword. "Like that's even a choice."

There was no downside. That's what she thought, as she grasped the hilt and was blinded by white light.

Ichigo was a Soul Reaper. He still seemed (relatively) normal. He'd only gone from beating up thugs to slicing up monsters. He was still the same person.

Besides, he had the power to fight those Hollows. He had what she needed.

So there was no downside. The consequences didn't exist.

Funny, just how _wrong_ she could be.

* * *

 _A/N: That title makes a lot more sense now, doesn't it? :)_

 _Two more chapters in Act I. Next Time: aftermath, weirdos with candy, and coming to terms._


	9. Chapter 9

**9\. Nightlight**

The voices came to her from the dark.

They were faint, at first. They sounded like the hushed whispers of a distant gathering: just within earshot, but not nearly loud enough to distinguish what was said. They were like whistles of the wind, free from actual words.

Still, Tatsuki listened intently. She wasn't nosy, and would only eavesdrop if she had a good reason to do so – but she wanted to know what they were saying. So she strained her ears, struggling to pick up the vibrations, hoping that the conversation would become a little bit louder. And over time, it did – but whether that was an increase in volume, or just her perception, she didn't know.

"...could live through that," came one voice. Bits and pieces: most words were too muddled to hear. "...to make it?"

"All bets..." said another, fading out. "... severed."

 _Sever_ was one of those words that never had a good connotation to it. It was impossible to put a positive spin on the thing. Thinking physical lead to slaughtered animals and missing limbs; picking social meant disowned relatives and broken friendships; trying business meant lost contracts and ruined careers. Even adding 'cushion words' was hopeless: things usually turned horrific. Mix 'sever' and 'kitten'. You get the idea.

So, when Tatsuki heard 'severed', she immediately thought the worst. _What am I missing?_

Reluctantly, she willed her eyes open. The canvas of light gray receded, giving way to a dim ceiling light hanging from a wooden roof. Half-lidded, her eyes moved from side to side, searching for anything that could serve as a clue to where she was.

And then a face eclipsed her view, making her eyes go wide.

He was a strange-looking guy. Messy pale-blond hair; a stubbly chin; a tacky hat; curious gray irises. His expression was dopey, as if he didn't expect to find her conscious. He looked like he had been caught red-handed, hovering two feet away from her lips.

So, Tatsuki did what came naturally.

She punched him straight in the nose.

Urahara toppled back into his seat, holding a hand over the blood dribbling from his nostrils. He blinked, looking downward. "Well, I guess that's the downside of nostalgia."

From under a dark green quilt, Tatsuki sprung up into a sitting position. She turned to Urahara, ready to dish out a Knuckle Inquisition – but then, she paused. Her eyes traveled down to her right fist, which was still clenched and ready to pound.

Her right fist. She could see it – which meant her cast was gone. It hadn't been there during her little head trip, either. Even at the dojo, at the very beginning, her right arm had felt normal. It seemed like the fracture was healed.

She opened and closed her fingers, checking her forearm. One limb was fine, and it felt like she still had her legs. She wiggled the toes of one foot, then the other. _Yep._

Then, she looked to her left, away from a confused Urahara.

In the room's corner was Shinji, sitting cross-legged, staring at her with a dumbstruck expression.

Startled, Tatsuki thrust her left arm at him, pointing. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"... Another Hiyori..." mumbled Shinji. He looked to be in a frightened trance. " _Two_ Hiyoris..."

Tatsuki blinked at him. Her eyes moved to her own hand. _Oh, hey. Left arm._

"Well, now that everyone's conscious," said Urahara, sounding way too cheerful for the occasion. His fingers pinched the brim of his hat: somehow, the blood had vanished. "Why don't we get started?"

Tatsuki turned and grabbed the neck of his jacket, holding it up threateningly, glaring. "Yeah, you can _start_ by explaining what the hell you were just doing."

Urahara blinked at her fiery eyes. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I know a perverted weirdo when I see one." Tatsuki thrust a finger back at Shinji – who froze midway through creeping out of the room. "Shinji! Who the hell is this guy? Your 'associate'?"

Shinji looked to the side. "Not that one, but you're right on the other count." He leaned against the wall, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "Grabbing him isn't a very good idea, though."

"And why–"

"Bakudō Number One: Sai."

Against her will, Tatsuki's arms jerked backwards, locking in place behind her back, wrist to wrist. Surprised, she struggled to pull them apart, straining her muscles. But it was no use: the invisible restraints didn't budge. All she could do was look back in dismay.

"I see you've had a change of heart. That's very courteous of you." Urahara smiled as he lowered his hand, curling his index and middle fingers back onto his palm. "Well, as I was saying. I'm sure you want to know the reason why you're here, Arisawa-san, so let me start by..."

Urahara trailed off upon noticing that her attention was elsewhere. Tatsuki was still looking down at herself, face blank, confounded.

She was wearing black robes – an outfit nearly identical to the one she had seen on Ichigo. Aside from the difference in color, they were similar to Shiro's clothes: a _kosode_ for the upper body, and _hakama_ for the lower. They were comfortable, and not nearly as heavy as they looked, though a few centuries out of fashion.

But there was a small problem.

Before she had blacked out, she had been wearing a T-shirt and jeans – and, _right now,_ it didn't feel like she was wearing anything underneath the robes.

Anything. At all.

Tatsuki's face flared like a lighted bonfire. Blazing eyes slowly rose to a startled Shinji.

"... Who the hell..." growled Tatsuki, with the ferocity of a rabid lion, "... put these on me?"

Cheerfully, Urahara spoke up. "Well, that was–"

Tatsuki dropped onto her back and sent a sandaled foot straight at his chin. Her sole smashed into a wooden object – Urahara's cane, which he was now using to block a flurry of successive kicks. Shinji gawked at the scene, watching as Tatsuki rolled onto her feet and sent a back kick flying towards Urahara's chest. He parried easily, drifting to the side, aiming the tip of his cane at her abdomen. It flew forward.

And hit Tatsuki's palm, as a ripple of her spiritual pressure swept through the room.

Surprise flashed through Urahara's shadowed eyes. Tatsuki's other hand had flown back to the hilt at the small of her back, grasping her Zanpaktou. Urahara pressed his thumb against the casing of his _shikomizue,_ preparing to draw his own from the cane.

Suddenly, Shinji's hand grabbed Tatsuki's wrist, twisting her forearm behind her back, restraining her. "Damn it, calm down!" He latched onto her shoulder as she struggled to lunge forward. "You've got the wrong idea!"

"Let me go! I'm gonna kill that bastard!" shouted Tatsuki, baring her teeth at Urahara's perplexed face.

"You'll get _yourself_ killed!"

A nearby _shōji_ door slid open. "What is all this commotion? Is there another injury?"

Tatsuki turned her head to find a hulking figure in the doorway. He was a tall, muscular man, slightly tanned and heavily moustached. Square glasses sat upon his nose, and a navy apron with a gold shop logo covered his white muscle shirt. To Tatsuki, he looked like a cross between a biker, a magician, and a supermarket attendant on steroids. Naturally, she was a bit freaked out.

Especially considering that his hands were covered in blood.

"W-who the hell's this guy?" she said, stepping back against Shinji.

"No trouble, Tessai. Just a small misunderstanding." Urahara set the tip of his cane against the floor, placing both hands atop it. "Please continue with the body. That's our first priority."

"Yes boss, right away."

 _Body?_

Tatsuki's eyes widened as Tessai turned. There was a figure lying in the room beyond the open door. She could see its shoes – and then Tessai slid the door closed, and it was gone.

"Look, just hold on and listen," said Shinji. He was calmer, now that Tatsuki had stopped thrashing about. "We're trying to explain what's going on."

Tatsuki turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him – and she swallowed.

Shinji was wearing the same shirt that he had on the train that day. It was a black dress shirt, formal, collared, with long sleeves. But, unlike that day, the dark fabric wasn't evenly colored: the shade was off on one side. And now that she was close, her eyes could tell why.

There was a large blood stain upon his right shoulder.

"Right..." said Tatsuki, trying to sound calm.

"All right then..." Shinji's eyes did a little half-roll. "Kisuke, I think–"

His grip had loosened – so Tatsuki broke free, dashing across the room, towards the doorway. Her hand shot to the framework, yanking the sliding panel to the side.

"Wait, don't!"

Shinji's warning came too late. She was already frozen. Her face was pale. Horror had plunged into her eyes.

Inside the room was Tessai, hands clasped together, kneeling next to a body.

Her body. Her body, soaked in blood. Her body, with dead eyes set upon the ceiling in a look of shock. Her body, with a crimson T-shirt, with a gaping hole through the stomach, with what looked like–

Tatsuki turned away, clamping a hand over her mouth, nearly collapsing. Her knees hit the floor as hurried footfalls pounded through the room. Hands grabbed her shoulders and a sliding door slammed shut, but all of that was out of view. Her eyes were screwed shut, bathed in black, in pain from pressure.

But she could still see it.

A muffled scream crashed against her palm. Her body shook violently, and she doubled up against the floor. Her stomach heaved, and she tried to stand, tried to get up and run elsewhere, convinced that she was about to vomit. But her knees only quivered, so she forced it back down, swallowing, sweating, still shaking every few moments.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found that it was Shinji who was holding her shoulders. He was at a loss for words: it was plainly evident upon his face. Urahara, however, was not.

"I have to apologize, Arisawa-san," he said solemnly. "That was not something you were ever meant to see."

Tatsuki looked over to his kneeling figure, still breathing in gasps. "What... the hell was that?"

Urahara's eyes were grave. "I won't lie to you. What you just saw was far from an illusion."

No reply. Tatsuki was staring past him, dazed and confused.

"You're in a state of temporary death, Arisawa-san. You were killed in a Hollow attack, and your body suffered extensive injuries. Right now, you're seeing yourself as a soul."

And now, horrified. "I'm a soul...?"

"Yes. During the attack, your soul vacated your body." Urahara paused, his brow creasing. "Normally, a human soul wouldn't be able to survive in a situation like that. But your case is different – you managed to awaken as a Soul Reaper." Urahara nodded towards her. "That should explain the Shihakushō."

 _Garment of dead souls._

Tatsuki stared down at her outfit in disbelief. As Shinji released her, her eyes sprung upwards, stricken with panic. "You said temporary... What's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing, for now." Urahara rose to his feet, adjusting his hat with his free hand. "Please, come with me. It'll be much easier to explain things after you've had some time to register all of this."

After a few seconds, Tatsuki nodded – and shakily, she found her feet.

* * *

Time to register all of this. Time to think.

Now that Tatsuki had it, things had only gotten worse.

She was sitting at a low, circular table in the middle of a large room, staring into wood, fists clenched atop her knees. Shinji was at her west, also sitting, but he hadn't spoken a word since they had entered the dingy-looking space. As for Urahara, he had left temporarily – to _make tea._ Maybe his bucket hat affected his brain, because he seemed to think that this was a casual situation.

Being a ghost – being invisible – was the first concept that had struck her, and it was horrible. Her parents, her classmates, her friends – nearly everyone in her life would be unable to see her. They would think that she'd gone missing, and gradually, after months or years, they'd all assume that she was dead. Only her mother would hold out hope: her father was a realist, and as much as she hated to admit it, she knew that he would try to convince her mother that she was gone. Ultimately, Mom would suffer the most. She'd feel like she had no-one left.

And that was just the beginning.

Tatsuki's picture would be on the local news. There would be search parties. There might even be a funeral. Tatsuki couldn't picture it: it was too depressing.

All of that – in exchange for what? A brainless move that had only gotten her killed. She had thrown her life away on rage and revenge, and only caused more damage in the end. And now she was sitting here, desperately trying to think of a way to fix it all – and already aware that it was too late.

"Shinji."

Shinji turned his head, but only slightly: he had already been keeping an eye on her. "Yeah?"

"This guy..." said Tatsuki, lifting her eyes. "Just who is he, anyway?"

Shinji leaned back, eyes on the ceiling, musing. "No point in trying to answer that, since it wouldn't make sense with what you know..." He lowered his gaze. "His name's Kisuke Urahara. I guess you could say he's familiar with this sort of thing."

Urahara. Tatsuki recognized that name. It was from a shop that Yuzu had mentioned: some kind of candy store. Appropriate, for someone so damn weird.

"So ghosts have a sweet tooth," said Tatsuki. "Didn't know that."

Shinji noticed a slight smile on her lips: the cynical kind you might see on a prisoner being led to execution. He couldn't help but think that it was ironic.

"Do you trust him?" she continued.

Shinji rolled his eyes. "Use your brain, would ya? You wouldn't be here, otherwise."

"My brain's in another room, last I checked."

For Shinji, any lighthearted notions ended with that sentence. Tatsuki's voice was cold: there was no humor.

"If I were you," he said, "this is the place I'd want to be."

Tatsuki paused, looking around the room. It was a plethora of dull green: the faded walls looked as if they had been painted a century ago, and the mats covering the floor were worn and shoddy. Aside from the table, there was little furniture: only a small curio cabinet sat in the corner. Overall, the space barely qualified as a living area.

"Doesn't look like a Warehouse 27," said Tatsuki. Her eyes turned back to Shinji, sharpening a bit. "No-one mentioned how I got here. You wanna take a stab at that?"

Shinji frowned. "Sounds like you don't trust _me._ "

"Is that my blood on your shoulder?"

Urahara walked into the room through an open _shōji_ door, holding a platter of steaming tea cups. He blinked at the narrow glares of Tatsuki and Shinji, then proceeded to stroll over to the table, set the platter down, and take a seat.

And also, to fan the steam toward their noses with his... well, fan.

"Why don't you two have a drink? It's a special blend..." His lips curled into a strange smile, as if he were telling an obscure inside joke. "Very calming. Soothes the soul."

"I don't have time to sit here and drink tea!" snapped Tatsuki. She pointed off towards the room they had come from, still looking at Urahara. "Just who the hell's that guy back there, and what's he doing to my body?"

Urahara sipped his tea, completely calm. "Tessai, my assistant. He's in the middle of healing Kidō designed to repair the damage done by the Hollow."

Tatsuki blinked – then nodded to Shinji. "And who's this? Your bodyguard?"

" _Bodyguard?_ " said Shinji, loud enough to surprise her. His face was dumbstruck: it looked like his pride had been trampled by a stampede.

A slight whistling noise caught Tatsuki's attention. Looking to her right, she found Urahara's head dipped – and realized that the whistling was from his lips. Apparently, he did impressions of a laughing teapot.

Shinji's eyebrows sunk. "This isn't funny, Kisuke."

"Of course. My apologies," said Urahara, nearly sputtering. He snapped his fan open over his mouth, still smirking with his eyes. "Hirako-san is a longtime friend, though the position of bodyguard is still open and available."

"... Kisuke-san..."

Heads turned towards an ajar door at the side of the room. Peeking out from the crack was Ururu, clad in pink pajamas. She rubbed her sleepy eyes.

Tatsuki's mouth dropped ajar. _That's Rocket-chan!_

"What's the matter, Ururu?" said Urahara, as he stood and walked over to the doorway. "Can't sleep?"

"I heard noise from over here..." she said drowsily, swaying a tiny bit, unsteady.

Urahara's hand gently came to rest atop her head, and he crouched to eye level. "It's all right. We're done for today." He smiled. "You go back to sleep, and we'll make sure to be quiet, okay?"

"Okay..."

Urahara lifted his hand, and Ururu turned, stepping back past the door. Carefully, Urahara slid it closed, not making a sound. Then, he walked back to the table, sitting down.

"It seems I'm mistaking night for day again. A bad habit from recent business." Urahara's voice was much quieter now, and his eyes carried a serious glint. "If you would, please keep your voices low. I'd prefer not to disturb the others."

Surprise crossed Tatsuki's face. She recognized Urahara, now: he had been in the park on the day of the Menos attack. She had only caught a glimpse of the two men accompanying that girl, but their attire was strange enough to stick in her memory. Urahara and that Tessai guy, definitely.

What really surprised her, though, was the drastic change in Urahara's mood. The comical carefree attitude was gone: his gaze was steely and protective. It was slight, but his expression reminded her of Ichigo.

"That girl," said Tatsuki, curious. "Is she your daughter?"

Urahara seemed genuinely surprised by the question. "My daughter? What makes you say that?"

"Dunno. It struck me that way." Tatsuki picked up her tea cup, keeping his gaze. "I've seen her with you before, too. Not a typical walk in the park, but still."

An intrigued smile found Urahara. "I see." As Tatsuki took a sip, he lifted his own cup. "I took Ururu in a few years ago. She helps me with various duties around the shop. There's no blood relation, but I try to treat my employees like family."

 _Right answer,_ thought Tatsuki. Now she could trust him a little more.

"You said your partner was doing some kind of healing." Her eyes drifted up from the tea, cautious in their optimism. "So does that mean...?"

"You won't be stuck that way forever."

Tatsuki let out a breath of relief. Her nerves were frayed to the edge: keeping a calm facade up was wearing on her. A little good news helped. Maybe she wouldn't be having an end-of-life crisis.

"However, administering the Kidō takes time. You'll have to wait until morning before returning to your body." Urahara cooled his chin with his fan, smiling whimsically. "Though, there are several alternative options, if that isn't convenient."

Tatsuki felt like she was being offered express shipping.

On herself.

"I can wait," she said, with a twitch of the eye. She set her tea upon the table, nodding to the room. "How did I get here, anyway?"

Urahara turned his attention back to his tea. "I'm sure Hirako-san can answer that." Shadowed eyes glanced up with an odd smile. "After all, he's the one who carried you through my door."

Surprised, Tatsuki turned her head to Shinji, who had been looking on in silence. Her reaction brought a dumbstruck look to his face, but it vanished quickly. He rolled his eyes upward, staring at the ceiling with a lackadaisical air.

"I was in the city, a few blocks over from the river. There was a strange spiritual pressure coming from one of the bridges near there. It felt like a Hollow, so I decided to check it out. _But,_ by the time I got over there, it was gone." He glanced at Tatsuki, looking skittish. "And you were already like that. We straightened out the Shihakushō thing, right?"

Tatsuki blinked. "Right."

Shinji relaxed, looking back at air. "So... since there might have been other Hollows around, and I'm not comfortable letting someone lay there and _get eaten,_ I decided it was a good idea to bring you and your body over to Kisuke's shop." Shinji's gaze returned to her, much sharper now. "I guess that explains the blood on my shoulder."

 _Fuck._ A pang of guilt sprang up in Tatsuki's stomach. _Nice one, Arisawa. One monumental fuck-up wasn't enough._

"So..." She looked at Shinji, unusually timid. "Does that mean you do know Ichigo?"

"Ichigo?" exclaimed Shinji, looking appalled. _I don't even get a thank you?_

"That's a topic we can discuss in the morning," said Urahara, cutting them short with a snap of his fan. He looked to Tatsuki. "Arisawa-san, you're free to spend the night here, if you'd like. I can arrange a spare futon to be set up in one of our back rooms."

Tatsuki shrugged. "Might as well. Not like I'm going anywhere soon."

"Excellent!" Urahara's odd jollity was back. "Tessai, could you take care of our guest?"

A nearby _shōji_ door slid open. Tessai stood just behind it, steadfast and true. This time, his hands were free from blood.

This, however, did not stop Tatsuki from gawking. _Where's he keep coming from?_

"Yes boss," said Tessai, giving a small little bow. He looked over to Tatsuki. "If you'll come with me, miss. I'll show you the way to your room."

A hesitant smile found Tatsuki – but, after a moment, she rose to her feet, following Tessai out of the room.

* * *

A few seconds passed after the _shōji_ door had been shut.

Shinji looked to Urahara, serious. "So, Kisuke. I see you're still good at sidestepping the important questions."

"Oh?" Urahara was holding his tea. "I have to disagree, Hirako-san. Being straightforward is very important in this business."

Shinji rolled his eyes. "You know, that 'feigning ignorance' bit doesn't work on people who've known you for over a century." He shifted in his seat, looking to the side. "We all think it's annoying."

"And necessary."

Shinji's eyes shifted back to Urahara. A cunning smile had formed beneath his hat's shadow.

"I'm sure you agree. Outright lies lead to suspicion, in the end." A shaded eye met Shinji's gaze. "Reaching her from the roof of that warehouse took you less time than I expected. Your Shunpo seems to be improving."

Shinji's eyebrows dipped. "I could say the same about your senses."

"An old man like me? No, I think the years have taken their toll." Urahara was waving his fan again, smirking.

Shinji nodded to the door behind him. "You think it's a good idea to let her stay, when Ururu's here? You know what happened with Mashiro."

"It'll be fine. I happened to come across a small amount of Sekkiseki a while back, so I decided to do a little renovation. Ururu's room is now this shop's Seireitei." Urahara closed his fan, smiling. "With all the Hollows around recently, she'd get no sleep, otherwise."

Shinji paused, furrowing his brow.

"You're still concerned." Urahara looked up in thought. "She seems to have reasonable control over her powers. I haven't sensed any changes in her spiritual pressure, aside from that spike after the Sai." Optimistic eyes moved to Shinji. "Maybe she's more like Mashiro than you think."

"It's too early to say that. One test with a weakened Bakudō isn't proof."

Urahara smiled. "Actually, that Sai was at full strength. I didn't intend for her to break free."

Shinji's eyes went wide.

 _That can't be. Only a level 1 spell, without incantation... But still... For a new Soul Reaper to break_ his _Kidō, it's..._

"It shouldn't be a surprise," said Urahara, staring solemnly. "Her awakening took place after the Hollowfication. The fact that she was able to do that says a lot in itself."

The sound of a sliding door interrupted them. Glancing towards it, the two found Tessai entering the room. He shut the door behind him, stepping forward.

"Urahara-san," he said respectfully, bowing his head. "I've escorted our guest to her room. She seems to be doing quite well."

"That's good to hear," said Urahara, nodding in response. "And the body?"

Tessai's brow furrowed. "Well, there's a problem there."

Urahara looked confused. "A problem?"

"Mm," said Tessai, his voice deep with concern. "I managed to heal both the internal and external injuries, and return the body to its state before the attack. However..." He paused, looking grim. "I was unable to reverse the condition that has spread throughout its cell structure."

The gravity of those words reached Urahara in a hurry. "What sort of condition?"

"The body's vital systems are suffering from a continuous breakdown in the most basic elements of their cells." Tessai adjusted his glasses. "Out of respect, I did not perform a physical examination to confirm the source. However, based on the reaction to the Kidō, it appears that the damage is radiating from the binding point of the Chain of Fate."

Urahara held his chin, deep in thought. "It sounds as if the Encroachment affected her physical body... but that would mean the Hollowification had begun prior to the chain being severed." He paused, then lifted his eyes. "Tessai, please move the body to the training grounds. We'll need to do additional analysis in order to develop an effective remedy, and I'd rather not have Arisawa-san know about all of this."

"Yes boss. Right away."

As Tessai exited through the far door, Shinji stood, tugging lightly at the knot of his tie. With a weary sigh, he turned, heading to retrieve his Zanpakutō from the other room.

"Oh? Leaving already?" asked Urahara, somewhat surprised.

"I should get back to the others. They still think the girl's a dud, from what I've been telling 'em." Shinji looked over his shoulder, grinning. "Hiyori was asleep when I left. I don't think you want her crashin' through here in the morning."

Urahara chuckled. "Actually, I wouldn't mind a change in pace. Four months is too long to stay away."

Shinji shrugged. "She's still pissed off about this plan of yours. Not much I can do about it..." His eyes slid over to Urahara, suddenly serious. "Although... I have to agree with her, now that I know the details."

Urahara's stare could have halted an army. "Weapons like that aren't meant to exist. You've seen his motives firsthand."

For a moment, Shinji was silent – but then, he shrugged, turning back towards the door. "I'll be back in the morning. Make sure she doesn't go running off anywhere, would ya?"

"Shinji."

Shinji stopped, glancing over his shoulder. Urahara's question was candid.

"You see this differently?"

Shinji thought for a moment. Then, he looked up, staring off into space. "There was a saying back at the Academy. 'We stand in awe before that which cannot be seen, and we respect with every fiber that which cannot be explained.'"

Urahara quirked an eyebrow. Before leaving, Shinji glanced his way.

"It's hard to miss a Cero in the dark."


	10. Chapter 10

**10\. Castles in the Sky**

Lying inside a futon, Tatsuki stared up at her extended hand. The moonlight from a nearby window played off her knuckles, washing the color from the skin, turning them a pale white. Her open palm reached a bit further towards the ceiling, as if grasping for something that had just floated out of reach.

Her first life, she guessed.

Dead as a human: alive as a Soul Reaper. After lying awake for an hour, mulling it all over, that was her conclusion. She _had_ died – not temporarily, but not permanently, either. This was more like a vacation from her body: a trip into unfamiliar frontiers. First Tokyo, and now the afterlife. She was getting around.

And hey, she'd even learned something new. Apparently, people were like cats: the 'nine lives' rule applied to more than one species. Maybe the one she had seen two weeks ago had been her own little harbinger.

Or maybe it had been another one of that fucker Shiro's tricks.

Shiro. She – _it_ – had been silent since Tatsuki had returned to reality. Even now, in the middle of these thoughts, Tatsuki couldn't hear it at all. It was as if it didn't exist – and Tatsuki hoped that somehow, that was true. She couldn't stand the thought of Shiro being inside her, being a part of her.

No. It _wasn't_ a part of her. It said things she never would, and did things she'd never consider. It twisted her emotions, and played off her heart. It forced her to face things that she never wanted to see. It led her down tunnels that she had always kept sealed. It made her doubt herself. It made her frightened. It made her–

Tatsuki's hand clenched into a fist. She exhaled, narrowing her eyes at her knuckles.

That was it.

Shiro knew about this. It had known all along. It had _wanted_ Tatsuki to lose her body: that was its goal. Why else would it have stayed quiet, when both their lives were at risk? Why else would it have done nothing?

There was no reason. Shiro knew about the Hollow; Shiro knew that Tatsuki would die; Shiro knew that this was its chance. It had something to gain from Tatsuki's death. That was the only explanation.

And it pissed Tatsuki off.

It was her own fault. This whole mess had only gotten started thanks to her mistakes. First she had let Orihime out of her sight, then she had let her emotions get the better of her, and now she had gone against her gut: she had put her trust into someone – some _thing_ – that was intent on seeing her dead. And to top it all off, Shinji – the person who had actually _saved_ her – probably thought that she was an ungrateful bitch, because she hadn't even had the nerve to swallow her pride and apologize.

 _Pathetic._

Tatsuki's arm fell onto the dark green quilt of the futon, crossing her covered body at the waist. She peered up into the wooden rafters, staring into the shadows.

" _I'm going to name him Enraku!"_

And now her thoughts drifted into memories, as they often did when she was alone. Memories of a certain girl at a certain festival, one year ago.

* * *

" _Yen and easy?" asked Tatsuki, staring at the pink teddy bear in Orihime's folded arms. The odd choice of kanji had her confused. "Why that?"_

" _You don't know?" Orihime tilted her head curiously. The answer seemed so obvious. "Because of his soda pop castle."_

 _Tatsuki blinked, blank-faced._

 _They were walking along one of the festival thoroughfares, passing by lantern-lit game booths and concession stands, heading away from the purple canopy of the Ring Toss tent. Just a minute ago, Orihime had run up to that tent, startling the operator with a long 'Wooow!'. Her eyes had twinkled with wonder at the colorful array of stuffed animals and shining soda bottles. Like a kid in a candy store, she had turned back to Tatsuki – prompting the operator's eyes to twinkle as well._

 _His game was rigged. It had been obvious to Tatsuki: his face had said it all. But, since she couldn't say no to Orihime's puppy eyes, she had sighed, smiled, and gone along with it. By some stroke of luck, she had actually won: the last ring had bounced off one of the highest bottles, dropping down over another, landing in her favor. Orihime had cheered; the operator had sneered; Tatsuki had refrained from knocking him on his rear. Her parting gift was a stuck-out tongue, given as she claimed the spoils of her victory._

 _Enraku, the pink teddy bear. His tale was legendary. Now, he found himself in the arms of his new owner – an equally legendary storyteller._

" _Once upon a time," said Orihime, beginning her explanation, "Enraku wasn't Enraku. He was a nameless bear king, and he sat high above all his subjects in the tallest tower of a soda pop castle. Every day, many adventurers would come to his castle. They came from all the animal kingdoms: The Giraffe Empire, The Butterfly Monarchy, even the United States of Zebra. Each of them was on a long journey, and they were all very tired. They had heard that soda bubbles made comfortable beds, so they wanted to spend the night at Enraku's castle._

" _But Enraku was greedy, and he wouldn't let them in. He would walk out onto his tower's balcony, and call down to them. 'Hear me, all animals at my gates!'" Orihime's Enraku voice was decidedly squeaky. "'Only those who can overcome the Ring Toss Trial shall enter my domain. Read the sign for rules and payment options.' And after that, he would disappear into his room."_

" _Bear of few words," said Tatsuki, grinning._

 _Orihime nodded. "Yes. He would never allow questions about the trial – because he knew that it was impossible."_

 _A look of surprise found Tatsuki._

" _The sign," said Orihime, "was very deceptive. It made the trial seem easy." She switched to her Enraku voice, reciting the words. "'I, Enraku, own magic rings. I will trade them for metal coins. Any animal who is able to throw a magic ring upon a bottle-top of this castle may spend the night. Please see my attendant to make your purchase.'"_

 _A passing teen snickered at Orihime's voice. Tatsuki glared at him from over her shoulder._

" _Many of the animals fell for Enraku's trick. They bought the magic rings, but they were not strong enough to throw them up onto the bottle-tops of the castle. Some could not even hold the rings, because they had hooves." Orihime shook her head, looking sad. "And so, no-one ever spent the night at Enraku's castle."_

 _Tatsuki looked over, knitting her brow. "So he conned them out of their money. I bet he got pretty rich that way."_

" _Oh, yes." Orihime met her eyes, nodding. "At first, Enraku was very pleased with himself. He would gather up all the coins of the animals, and stack them into a shiny throne. Then he would sit there, swinging his paw feet, waiting for more adventurers." With each step, Orihime bobbed her head from side to side, imitating the swaying motions of a pleased Enraku. "But–" and the bobbing stopped, "as time went on, things changed. All the other kingdoms told their animals about Enraku's trick, and fewer and fewer adventurers visited the castle. Enraku became very rich – but also very lonely."_

 _Tatsuki blinked, curious. "So what happened to him?"_

" _Well, after many days..." said Orihime – and she smiled, "a dragon came to the castle."_

 _Tatsuki grinned._

" _The dragon was very strong, but also very smart. She knew that Enraku's trial was a trick, even though no-one had told her about it. So, when Enraku came out onto his balcony and called down to her, she huffed and puffed, and said very quietly..." Orihime furrowed her brow, putting on her 'irked Tatsuki face'. "'This guy's a crook.'"_

 _Tatsuki burst out laughing – loud enough to draw odd looks. How did Orihime even know about that? She had been twenty feet away at the time!_

" _So," Orihime continued, smiling, "the dragon came up with a plan. She wanted to teach Enraku a lesson, so she kept her wings hidden from him."_

" _Her wings?"_

 _Orihime nodded. "Yes. She had wings, but only the Bat Air Force knew about them – because they were invisible."_

" _Oh, I see."_

" _But Enraku couldn't see them, so he told his attendant to sell her the magic rings." Gray eyes soared into the sky, excited. "The dragon took the rings, and she flew up to the bottle-tops of the castle. One, two, three, four! She bounced them off Enraku's tower."_

 _Tatsuki grinned. "I bet that got his attention."_

" _Oh, it did." Orihime began to sway in place. "The whole castle shook. Enraku thought it was an attack by the Mole Militia, so he ran out onto his balcony. Then he saw the dragon, and he was very shocked. He said 'Oh no, please don't eat me!'" Orihime huddled down for a moment – and then sprang back up. "But the dragon was friendly. She stuck her tongue out at him, and tossed the last ring onto one of the bottle-tops."_

" _But she didn't spend the night."_

 _Orihime smiled. "No, she didn't. The castle was bear-sized, so the rooms were too small for her." An index finger leapt into the air. "But Enraku was very distraught. He thought that the dragon would want to sleep over – so he told his attendant to break down all the walls inside the castle."_

" _Uh-oh. If he did that, there'd be no place for anyone else to sleep."_

" _Exactly!" Orihime was beaming. "His attendant figured this out, and he got very angry." A cute scowl took over as she began marching in place. "So he went to every floor of the castle. He told all the mare horses, and all the bear men: 'We can never put the castle back together again.'" She paused – and then chirped:"So they started a revolution!"_

 _Tatsuki nearly cracked up. "A revolution?" she asked, grinning wildly._

" _Yes! They all marched up to Enraku's tower, and they threw him out the window!" Orihime's arms shot out to the sides, flailing wildly. "Enraku went 'Aaaaah!', and he fell all the way down to the bottom of the castle. But before he hit the ground–"_

 _Tatsuki looked up at her, balancing the fallen bear in one hand. "... The dragon caught him."_

 _Orihime blinked, looking down. She stared at Tatsuki for a moment._

 _Then, she smiled. "Yes."_

 _A slight breeze drifted across Tatsuki's skin. Slowly, she stood, holding Enraku between her hands._

 _It was strange. Now that she looked around, she noticed that they were on the walkway just next to the riverbank. She could see the moonlit water past the iron railing, and the glow of distant lanterns to her left. But, thinking back, she had no idea how they had ended up here, or when they had arrived._

 _It didn't really matter, anyway._

" _So then..." said Tatsuki, smiling, "the dragon made Enraku an offer."_

 _Orihime blinked, curious. "An offer?"_

" _Uh-huh." Tatsuki tilted her chin up, closing her eyes with a smile. "She said: 'If you promise never to trick anyone again, you can come with me to my castle, and I'll introduce you to a beautiful princess.'"_

 _A pause. "... So what did Enraku say?"_

 _Tatsuki opened her eyes, finding an odd twinkle in Orihime's. The moonlight, probably._

" _He said..." Enraku moved forward, held out by toned arms. Tatsuki grinned. "'Jackpot.'"_

* * *

How long had she been in love with Orihime?

Looking back, it was hard for Tatsuki to answer that question. She could search her memories forever, and yet never find the time. The more she looked, the more clues she found: comments that should have stayed unsaid, long gazes to the back of the head, curious thoughts while lying in bed. She supposed that, really, she had always been in love with her. That concept had just never been one she'd considered.

Well, until today.

Tatsuki lifted her arm from her waist, holding her palm back towards the ceiling. She reached out towards the invisible sky.

Orihime was up there, somewhere.

Tatsuki could still feel her. She could feel those gray eyes looking down from high above. The distance between them was staggering: it seemed like Orihime was in the stratosphere.

Making sense of it was actually very easy. Orihime's head was usually in the clouds: it was the rest of her that rarely followed. She wasn't on a plane – flying one was on her to-do list, but Karakura didn't have an airport. The feeling didn't match up with that, anyway. There was no movement to it – or, if there was, Tatsuki was too far away to be able to tell. If anything, it was like staring at the moon: like peering at someone on the surface of some celestial satellite. And since Orihime wasn't an astronaut (yet), that only left one possibility.

The Soul Society.

Just where was that place? What would she have to do to get there? What trials were waiting for her? What would the outcome be – for her, for Orihime, for Ichigo, for Rukia?

Tatsuki didn't know.

She couldn't see the future. Her thoughts only traveled so far. She viewed the world through the happenings that met her eyes – now, in the present, at this moment. There was no way for her to picture the Soul Society: some strange, distant world that had barely offered her a glimpse into its inner workings. It was impossible for her to imagine what such a place might look like, or what threats it might hold. And so, thinking of them – of those threats, of her friends, of their fates – made her uneasy.

But she could still feel Orihime – and that gave her hope.

Tatsuki closed her hand around a phantom star.

Get her body back, clear the air with Shinji, grill Urahara out of everything he knew, get to the Soul Society, find Orihime, slug Ichigo, and save Rukia.

She could do that.

Flying up there wouldn't be a problem. After all, she _had_ wings.

They were just invisible.


End file.
